Havenswood
by Babsy1221
Summary: Elizabeth never meant for this to happen. One mistake-one simple mistake-and her life had unraveled around her. Now, on a path she never expected or wished for, she must learn about herself, about the things that are lost along the way to who we will become, and about the power love has to heal as well as to harm. After such a mistake, can she truly ever be happy again?
1. Chapter 1

_Once again, I have found myself forced into writing my own version of a P&P "What If" plot that has always been hard for me to swallow. I hope you have fun reading it—I'll admit that I had a grand old time writing it. And in case it isn't clear, I am not Jane Austen, nor do I have any right to treat her characters so callously. But I'm doing it anyway. _

_04/16/2014 Update: This occurs on June 25__th__, which required fixing some time-span references. _

_Havenswood_, Chapter One

"Miss Beth!"

Elizabeth half-turned toward the young man's voice, her eyes still intent on clipping out the dying hyacinths with a too-large pair of shears. "Yes, Michael?"

"Miss Beth!" the short, lean boy cried again, although his pounding feet had brought him near enough that he no longer needed to shout. "A gentleman is here to see you!"

Elizabeth refrained from rolling her eyes, but only just. Mr. Pippins, the middle-aged, portly reverend had been calling frequently of late to ask her unnecessary questions about the care of the "overabundant ewes" of his small flock. Although she was usually patient with him, she never appreciated being interrupted while doing her daily chores. Julia thought he'd become enamored of Elizabeth, but she knew that he was just a lonely man, and that she reminded him powerfully of his own daughter, a fact of which he reminded her during every visit.

He normally called later in the morning, but he must have some particular problem to concern himself with today.

"Very well, Michael. Thank you for telling me so quickly. I'll be there in just a moment."

Michael nodded once, his curly hair flopping into his eyes, then grinned at her and spun away, running back toward the house.

"Michael, wait!" she called. She'd been sitting on her heels in front of the plants, but now she slid to one side, her legs tucked against her, and sat on the blanket.

He turned back. "Yes, Miss?"

"Do you remember Miss Hannah's lessons? What did she tell you are the most important duties of a footman?"

He scrunched up his twelve-year-old face, still too round to be a young man's but too thin to be a boy's. "Um… I mean, yes, miss. The most important jobs of a footman are to be invisible but always present, to always be aware of the needs of the people around him, and to… uh… to always make sure a duty is carried out fully before moving on to another."

"Very good. Now, what was your assignment?"

"To tell you that a gentleman was here to see you."

"Which you did very well. But is it not also part of your duty to return to said gentleman and let him know that I will be in soon?"

Michael's eyes widened. "Oh. Yes, I suppose. I'll go straight away!"

He began to spin again, but Elizabeth caught his pant-leg, laughing quietly. "Wait. There is another part you must remember. What might it be?"

He frowned, sticking his tongue into his cheek.

"Is there someone nearby you who might be in need of your help?" she prompted.

He looked around at the other women working in the garden, most entirely unaware of their conversation. He finally returned his gaze to Elizabeth and shrugged.

"Don't shrug," she admonished. "Say, I don't know, Miss."

"Sorry. I don't know, Miss."

Elizabeth smiled gently at him and held her hand out.

"Oh!" Michael blushed, but he reached out quickly and helped Elizabeth to her feet, a much more difficult process than it used to be. "Forgive me, Miss Beth, for not noticing."

"No harm done, Michael. You are trying, and for now, that is the most important part. Now go deliver my answer."

"Yes, Miss."

Once again, he ran off quickly, and Elizabeth laughed at the sight, cheered right out of her irritation with Mr. Pippins.

She gathered her tools from the ledge near her and bent to pick up her blanket, reminding herself to have Michael pick up and fold the blanket next time, for her sake as much as for his own.

"I'm summoned, Martha!" she called to a straw hat she could see just through the hedge behind her. "I'll come out and finish later."

"No, you go on," Martha answered gruffly, her dark eyes peeking through the branches. "You've done your part this morning. I'll have Cora finish up for you."

Elizabeth nodded, relieved. She loved to be in the garden, but the low work grew harder every day. After luncheon it was her turn to help wash up, a job she still didn't mind despite her feet growing tired after only a few moments at the washbasin.

She made her way through the ornamental garden, gazing lovingly over the neatly pruned bushes and flowers. When she'd first arrived here, she'd hated this garden, hated its artificiality as well as its boundaries, longing for her solitary rambles through untouched meadows and along barely-visible paths. But now, having been a part of the work to maintain it and having learned her own limitations in the wilds around the manor, the garden had become a place of respite as well as activity.

She carried the tools to the gardener's shed, hanging each one carefully back in its place, and continued across the stone courtyard to the kitchen door, pausing just inside to hang her apron and straw hat on her peg. She noticed that Meg's, Lucy's, and Trinity's were missing, although she hadn't seen them in the gardens this morning. That must mean they'd been assigned the Birch Walk, a job she didn't envy them. On an early summer morning like this one, with the sun finally appearing and bringing some warmth after such a long and chilly spring, she wouldn't want to be stuck trimming hedges in a shady lane.

Elizabeth made her way through the kitchen, finding the simplest path through the clamor and noise that had made its home there every Friday morning since Laura, Katrina, and Cecily had been assigned luncheon duties together. A part of Elizabeth envied those who got to work in such an atmosphere, with everyone singing and laughing, but she knew she would not enjoy it for long, especially since Friday's luncheons inevitably came out burnt, sodden, and otherwise inedible thanks to the merry inattention. Elizabeth loved to laugh as well, but not when the result would be everyone else suffering for it later.

"Beth, are you making those treacle tarts again tomorrow night? I am dying for one!" Laura called across the melee.

Elizabeth laughed easily. "I shall now, just for you."

"You're an angel!" Laura sang, dancing into a twirl that caused Cecily, who was buttering the tops of several loaves of bread, to step back in surprise and splatter warm butter all over herself. "Oh, darling!"

"It's all right," Cecily giggled, setting down the bowl and wiping her apron with a nearby cloth, being especially careful around the taut roundness of her middle. "I think Baby shall learn to like butter."

Elizabeth joined in the laughter of the crowd of women in the room, but she made a hasty exit. She had no desire to be splashed with butter, flour, or anything else, since she'd only had this new dress for a week, the first one she'd ever made for herself and of which she'd been truly proud. It wasn't the height of fashion by any means, and the seams were a bit crooked, but all-in-all, it was surprisingly serviceable.

She followed the kitchen corridor out toward the main entrance, stopping to wave hello to the First Form children in the morning room and the Fifth Formers in the library. Both sets of children called out to her, begging for Story Time, but she reminded them that stories weren't until late that afternoon then taunted them with, "But I suppose I know why you're all looking so forward to it. I want to know what might happen to the knight in the dragon's cave as much as the rest of you!" The children begged anew, and she waved cheerfully, moving on. Truthfully, she looked forward to her stories as much as they did, still surprised at the pleasure she'd discovered in such a seemingly-simple creative endeavor.

She hadn't, however, proven herself of much use in teaching the children anything worthwhile. She knew how to read and write, how to do sums and long divisions, but she very clearly didn't have the knack for conveying the knowledge to a room of rowdy eight-year-olds. Miss Matilda herself had agreed to release her from teaching duties after a particularly terrible grammar lesson, as long as she conducted a singing lesson for the older children a few times a week and continued with her story times. Elizabeth had never been so relieved.

She eyed the closed door of the parlor as she stepped in front of the mirror beside the door. Truly, although it was out of his pattern, this wasn't such an awful time for Mr. Pippins to call. She had an hour or so of leisure before luncheon, and she was sure he would want to discuss how to handle Miss Mariam's constant outbursts of sobbing during his Sunday sermons. Elizabeth had no idea what to do about the problem, but since just telling her always seemed to lift such a weight off his shoulders, she was more than willing to lend a sympathetic ear. She couldn't begin to fathom the load he carried, the burden of caring for the souls of a house of nearly forty women, all of whom had struggles deeper and harder and truer than anything she could have imagined only seven months ago.

That accounting of time brought her up short, stopping her hands in the midst of fixing a pin that had come loose from her tight bun. Seven months. Oh, how different things were only seven months ago.

During their last private conference, Mr. Pippins had asked her whether she would go back, whether she would change where the last half-year had brought her.

"I…" She had thought carefully, closing her eyes in order to concentrate on what she found inside herself. "I… would change my decisions, yes. But would I change the outcome? That is a much harder question."

He had nodded as if she'd said something very significant, and she'd spent the last week puzzling over her answer. Would she change where she was now? She thought about her mail slot in the study, how rarely it was filled. But she also thought about Laura's and Cecily's smiling faces, about Michael's charm, and about the innocent anticipation of the children in the morning room.

She truly did not know whether she would go back.

"Beth," said a genteel, familiar voice from behind her on the wide, carpeted stairs.

"Suzanna," Elizabeth smiled, ascending a few steps and holding her arm out for the elegantly-dressed, not-quite-elderly woman to take. "How are you this morning?"

"Oh, pish tosh," Suzanna said impatiently. She made as if to avoid Elizabeth's arm, but in the end she allowed Elizabeth to carry her knitting bag and leaned on her, grimacing at the necessity as she lowered herself to the next stair. "I am getting better every day. So stop asking. I will tell everyone otherwise if something changes."

Elizabeth laughed, too pleased with Suzanna's return to gruff good cheer to be irritated. "I am glad to hear it, and I will try to stop asking, but since I truly wish to know, it is hard to remember to keep quiet."

The woman gave her a reluctant smile and patted her hand. "You're a sweet thing. Now, what are you doing in here at this hour? Shirking, are we?"

"Of course not!" Elizabeth laughed again. "Mr. Pippins is here and asked for me."

"Ah," she said, smiling fondly toward the parlor. "He is a good man, and you are very patient with him."

"I enjoy his visits, and I believe he does, too. They are good for us both."

"Of course. May I come in and say hello to him? I want to prove to him that all those prayers after my fall were effective in spite of my remonstrations against all things holy during the bone-setting."

"You were quite profane," Elizabeth giggled, blushing at the memory of some of the words she remembered drifting out of Suzanna's chamber that tense winter evening.

"Well," Suzanna laughed, "one can't live in a house such as this for as long as I have without picking up a few bits of colorful language."

"Indeed, not. Though poor Mr. Pippins was quite shocked."

"As was I!"

The two women laughed together as they crossed the entry and opened the door into the parlor. Elizabeth held the door steady, allowing Suzanna to enter the room slowly ahead of her.

"Mr. Pippins!" Suzanna said cheerfully. Elizabeth turned to set Suzanna's bag on the table near the door. "Oh. You, sir, are not Mr. Pippins."

"No, madam, I am not," a deep voice answered.

That voice pinned Elizabeth's feet to the floor even as it forced her head to whip up. She straightened, swallowed back some bile, and quickly grabbed Suzanna's bag back off the table, holding it in front of her like a shield.

"Mr. Darcy!" she choked.

Mr. Darcy, standing tall and imposing and impossibly handsome in the center of the room, stared at Elizabeth with a look of mixed shock and relief. "Miss Bennet."

Suzanna looked him over openly, examining his person as a queen would a supplicant asking for her favor. He wore brown today, not the finest thing he'd ever donned but certainly enough to attract the notice of normal people passing on a street. All was in place, everything as it always was with him, but something about him seemed disheveled to Elizabeth. Suzanna released a short, "Hmm," then turned to her.

"Beth, you know this man."

"Yes, Suzanna," she answered, her eyes darting between Suzanna and Mr. Darcy. "I know him."

"Did you come to see Beth?" Suzanna asked him.

"Yes." He stood very still, his dark eyes focused on Elizabeth. "That is, I came to see Miss Bennet, yes."

Elizabeth nearly shook her head. How strange that her name should feel so foreign now.

Suzanna turned serious, questioning eyes on her. "Beth, dear, do you want to speak to this man?"

Elizabeth returned Suzanna's gaze, hoping that some part of her feeling would be conveyed. Apparently it worked because Suzanna finally gave a tiny nod, almost unnoticeable, acknowledging that she knew exactly what Elizabeth's panic was trying to tell her. Then she waited for her verbal answer.

"Yes, Suzanna," Elizabeth said, dropping her eyes to the ground. "Yes, it's all right. I'll speak to him."

"Do you wish me to stay?"

Yes. A thousand times, yes. She was completely unprepared to see him, completely unprepared to face anything he might have to say, and she wanted a friend, someone to hold her hand and help her keep her mind focused.

"No, thank you," she said. "I'll be fine."

"Call if you need anything," Suzanna said, patting Elizabeth's hands gently. "We'll hear you."

Then she gave a stiff curtsey and slowly shuffled out, giving a significant glance to the bag Elizabeth held against her but not moving to take it.

It wasn't until the door closed fully behind her that Elizabeth took in a final deep breath, reminded herself of how different she was, how much she'd grown, and how little she had to fear now, and allowed her gaze to rise more boldly to Mr. Darcy's face.

He was staring at her again with that dark, deep gaze, the one that all those months ago she had thought was disapproving, then thought was vehemently approving, then decided not to ever see again because she knew she would never know what it meant.

"Are you not concerned with having a chaperone?" he asked, eyeing the closed door uncomfortably.

"Hardly," Elizabeth answered wryly. "What brings you to Havenswood, Mr. Darcy?" She moved into the room and sat carefully in the chair furthest away from him. Her giddy nerves almost made her laugh when she realized Mr. Darcy might be shocked to discover that only yesterday morning, she'd been on her hands and knees polishing the legs of the very chair in which she now sat.

"How can you ask me that?" he asked, sitting on the very edge of the sofa nearest her, his elbows resting on his thighs as he leaned toward her unconsciously. "Do you think I am come for a social call?"

Elizabeth stared at his face as his careful mask of indifference fell away and revealed a surprising depth of emotion.

"I am sorry, sir," she said uncertainly. "I simply did not expect to see you here, or anywhere, really. Ever again."

"I suppose that is what one expects after running away from home."

Elizabeth blushed. She wanted to defend herself, but explanations were impossible. And besides, he was right.

"Were you planning to ever see _anyone _again, Miss Bennet?" he went on. "Your friends, your sisters, your mother and your father?"

His words were painful jabs at her heart, which was already so tender and sorrowful lately. "No," she said thickly, swallowing against a tightened throat. "No, I was not."

He stood abruptly, striding across the room in agitation. Elizabeth knew that his suppressed emotion made him far more imposing than usual, each movement full of danger, but she couldn't fear him. The fact of his being deeply affected by her actions was so obvious that she could only feel his pain.

"How could you…?" he began then broke off. "Why did you…? What…? Argh!" He threw his hands up, pressing them against both sides of his head as if it were about to explode. Then he turned and strode to the window looking out over the grounds and the forest beyond. He crossed his arms over his chest and huffed, obviously trying to regulate his emotions.

Elizabeth knew she should be angry with him, angry for his presence and for all that had come before it, but even if she hadn't spent the last few months actively trying to forgive him, the sight of him standing in front of that window, all the impenetrability that she hated having washed away and leaving him wide open and honest, might have been enough to ease the rest of her resentment. Standing before her was a man she'd come to believe she'd only imagined, a man of deep feeling whom she'd met only once, though the meeting had changed her life irrevocably.

The question intruded again on her mind: would she go back? Would she change that night if she could?

"Mr. Darcy," she said slowly, "How did you find me here?"

"A good question," he said shortly, not turning from the window. "In some ways, I am still not sure how. When the search began for you in earnest after you disappeared, that morning after the Netherfield ball, Bingley and I searched the road to London. We found evidence of you at a wayside inn, but that was the last indication of your whereabouts. We stayed in London, but there was only so much we could do without any leads. The only clue I had, the only minor inkling, was that I thought your aunt's behavior was somewhat suspicious."

"My aunt?" Elizabeth asked, dismayed. "But she swore she would…"

"I know. She was entirely discreet. It was only in unguarded moments when she looked worried and slightly guilty that I realized she knew something more. She later told me how she abetted your escape."

"She told you?"

"I suspected her, but I knew she was too intelligent a woman to disclose the information to me upon questioning, so I employed a rather more time-consuming strategy. I removed myself to London entirely, and I spent the winter ingratiating myself with your aunt and uncle. I had begun to give up hope, although to be honest, their society has been so pleasant that I no longer had to use my search as an excuse to visit them, when something changed for your aunt two weeks ago. She seemed more agitated than before, more concerned."

Elizabeth felt her heart constrict. She'd sent her aunt an awful letter a fortnight before, the result of a long sleepless night of misery and self-recrimination. She'd followed it up with a far more cheerful one the next day, but apparently the damage had been done.

"Finally," he continued, "without any request or change in behavior on my part, she approached me during an evening party two nights ago, said, 'You must go to her, sir. She needs you,' and handed me a scrap of paper containing the address of this manor. I left early the next morning, have spent the last day or so trying to learn about this house, which was next to impossible, and finally resolved to simply come here and ask for you. Imagine my surprise when the young man who answered the door allowed me in and said he'd find you presently."

"I am sorry, sir, that you spent so much energy on such a fruitless endeavor, but whatever your purpose is here, nothing will change my situation or my future."

"But why?" he cried, spinning to face her. "Why are you here, Miss Bennet? What is this strange place, this _commune_ of women? What is the purpose of this house, and why did you leave behind all those you loved to come to this forsaken end of the country? I do not understand."

"My choices are mine," Elizabeth answered, feeling the heat of anger begin burning. She was being cryptic, she knew, but who was he to demand answers? "You have found me out. Since the only reason I can imagine you might undertake such a task in the first place would be to prove that there is nothing you cannot accomplish, then I congratulate you. Well done. But I beg you to remember that my life is my own, that in only six more weeks I will reach my majority and my family can do nothing to force my return."

"Force you? Was your family life so terrible? For my part, I was never wholly impressed with your family's behavior, but it was obvious from the moment of your disappearance that they love you deeply, that your actions have cut them. Why would you run from them?"

"Run from them? I do not run from _them_! I run from myself, sir, and from all the pain I would bring them had I remained. I run _for_ them."

"That makes no sense whatsoever. Unless you committed some heinous act, something wholly despicable, I cannot imagine the pain it would inflict upon them being any worse than the misery they suffer now at your abandonment. It is hard for all of them, but Bingley tells me that your eldest sister and your father suffer most keenly. He says your father only ever leaves his bookroom to sleep or to take long, aimless walks about the estate. And your sister's only relief seems to be Bingley's visits, although he is becoming quite discouraged that she won't agree to set a wedding date until you've been found."

"A wedding date?" Elizabeth gasped, clapping her hands together. "They are to be married? I am so pleased!"

He frowned. "You did not know? Didn't your aunt mention it?"

Elizabeth looked down, ashamed. "I asked her to give me no news of my family. Suzanna said it is usually easier to make a clean break, a fresh start. I miss them dearly, especially Jane and Papa, but it is for the best."

"Who is this Suzanna? Lady Suzanna Winters? She is the mistress of this manor, is she not? And it is called Havenswood, is that right?"

"Yes, Havenswood is her ancestral home. She cares for all of us here, provides us a life of safety, education, and purpose, to prepare us to go back out into the world when we are ready, hopefully for a far better life than we would have found for ourselves."

"Why?" he asked, a vein in his forehead bulging at the effort it took for him to control his temper. "Why are you here, Miss Bennet? And all those women I saw in the lane, in the garden?"

She took a deep breath to control the return of her nausea. She owed him this answer, a part of her said, and yet another part said she owed him nothing. And was he the sort of man who would make trouble for them, who would grow angry at the truth and reveal them to society?

She looked into his eyes earnestly for the first time that morning. He seemed to sense her need to examine him, the gravity of what she sought from him, so he met her gaze openly, pleading silently for an explanation.

"We are all women," she said quickly before she could lose her courage, "who have fallen in the eyes of society, sir. We are all women who had to remove ourselves from our homes, either before our families could discover us or after they did and sent us away. Suzanna takes in as many as she can, provides us a home, a doctor's care, and the word of God to give us hope. In return we care for her estate, we support and teach one another any and all skills we possess, and we provide a sisterhood to care for the children."

"The children?" he asked blankly.

She wanted to roll her eyes at his blindness, but he was far too sincere for her to tease him. "Yes, the children. Every woman who comes here is soon to be a mother, so we watch over and teach the children everything we can to prepare them for the hardship of growing up fatherless."

He shook his head, still confused. "But then why are _you_ here?"

She sighed, allowing her exasperation at him to trump the abject fear clawing at her insides. "Because, sir…" She gripped the arm of the sofa and used her other arm to remove the knitting bag from her lap before pressing on the cushion to provide her the necessary leverage. She rose slowly to her feet and without meeting his eyes, she smoothed the folds of her dress over her rounded middle. "My child and I belong here."


	2. Chapter 2

_The response to this story has been fascinating so far, and I thank all of you who've made comments. I hope this chapter answers your questions, and I'd love to hear your reactions (good or bad, "No way!" or "Obviously. Duh."). And to those of you who are worried about content, no, there is no r***. That issue would require much more sensitivity and experience than I have the courage to imitate. And btw, I'm still not Jane Austen, and I still hope she'll forgive me for this What If. _

_04/16/2014 Update: I adjusted some timing mistakes but no other content. This is all happening around June 25__th__, and the baby is due at the end of August._

_Havenswood_, Chapter 2

The silence in the room roared in Elizabeth's ears like the thundering of a rolling summer storm. She stood very still, blushing and feeling faint, even a little dizzy.

Finally, using all her courage, she flicked a glance up at the frozen man across the room. His face was as red as hers, his eyes wide and staring, and she wondered whether he was more embarrassed to see her so misshapen or more horrified at the reality of her situation and the work he'd put into discovering her.

He stared for several seconds, his mouth hanging open, before suddenly closing his eyes, as if to erase the sight of her from his memory. He spun again and practically ran to the window, bracing himself against both sides and leaning his forehead against the glass, his shoulders rising and falling rapidly.

Her instant response, seeing his shock, was to race from the room and hide for the rest of her life. Yes, she had spent the last several months working with Mr. Pippins, an unusual man of the cloth if ever there was one. His own history, the loss of a beloved daughter who died in childbirth after running away from home to hide her shame, had softened his religious views over a lifetime of sorrow and made comforting broken-hearted souls his life's particular mission, thus his living provided by Suzanna. He believed now, contrary to the teaching of the Church at large, that although God condemns sins, he does not condemn the sinner, that an earnest penitent can receive forgiveness and live thereafter a worthy life.

The guilt that had consumed Elizabeth's heart during those wretched weeks before the Netherfield Ball had only increased upon arriving at Havenswood. She had wished to speak to someone about her feelings but hadn't felt worthy of speaking to the spiritual, kind Mr. Pippins. And there were moments when her guilt subsided, when she listened to some of her new sisters, who saw their pregnancies not as great sins but only as unfortunate mistakes. But the feelings always returned when she was alone, when she wanted to pray and felt unworthy to kneel before God.

She was finally half-dragged to see Mr. Pippins by Suzanna herself after it was discovered that although she had no sickness, she was eating almost nothing and sleeping hardly at all. His reception had been so kind, so gentle and earnest that she had broken down in miserable sobs and confessed everything, and during the subsequent weeks and months, she found great comfort in his teaching and the time they spent discussing the love of God together.

Elizabeth had finally learned to believe that she had repented, that God had forgiven her, but she still struggled to forgive herself for her own stupidity, for her sensual weakness, and she couldn't bear the condemnation she could read in Mr. Darcy's horror. She had not told anyone besides her Aunt Gardiner, not even Jane, because she could not bear the thought of their reactions. She had come to accept that she would never see them again and had therefore never prepared herself for the misery of facing anyone from her past and watching them judge and then cast her aside.

And of course, the first person to discover her had to be this man, the one who knew best all her faults and the one who was least likely to forgive her for them. She tried to tell herself that she did not care for his opinion, but that had all ended months before, and she couldn't hide the pain his reaction was causing her. A few unwilling tears slipped down her cheek, but she contained the sound of the sob threatening to escape.

_God loves you_, said Mr. Pippins' voice inside her mind. _He knows you made mistakes, He knows you are human, and He knows that you are sorry. You have repented, dear girl, and your heart has been cleansed. Forgive yourself and move forward, trusting in His love. _

Elizabeth drew in a fortifying breath, drying the tears. God did not condemn her, and she would not give this man more right to judge her than God. Besides, he was of all people the least worthy to censure her.

That thought gave her courage, and she looked up, ready to meet his response.

She watched him straighten and stand tall, resettling his jacket by tugging the lapels. He drew in a deep breath and turned around to her, wearing once again the haughty expression she so despised.

He seemed perfectly in control, though his words were unnaturally rigid and separate. "Who is the father, Miss Bennet?"

She stepped back in surprise, his words as effective a weapon as a slap across the face. "I beg your pardon?" she cried. "How can you ask me that?"

His tranquility fell away again as he stepped toward her, curling his fists. "I only wish to help you, I swear it. Who is the blackguard who left you in such a state without doing his duty and caring for you and the child?"

She stared at him, her mind churning. He seemed so honest, so emotional and sincere, and yet his pretended ignorance was the gravest insult.

"Did you come here just to be cruel?" she asked, her voice shaking with anger. "Did you come here to torture me?"

He looked surprised and then wounded. "I came here to find you, to offer you my help in whatever way I could. Please, Miss Elizabeth, I only want to assist you. Tell me the name of your…" He swallowed heavily, looking vaguely ill. "…the child's father. I will do everything in my power to influence him to marry you."

He was serious! Even in the midst of all her turmoil, she could not doubt his earnestness. But how?

She stumbled over her next words before finally pushing them out. "Sir, I… I never wished to force myself or this child on… the father. We are better off here."

"Is he a wicked man? I mean, obviously he is a man of low morals, but is he a gentleman? Would he not do the honorable thing? Did he not even offer to care for you and the child?"

"I never told him I was with child," she said carefully, watching his face. "I did not want to force him into a marriage he did not want, and the idea of being put up quietly as a former mistress was unbearable. I would rather ship myself off to America alone."

"But he made it clear he did not want you? Was there no affection involved?" he asked uncomfortably. Then his face reddened again and his fists clenched. "Did he force himself upon you?"

"No!" she cried, frightened of his agitation. "No, he did not. Sir, how can you ask me these questions? Are you unwell?"

He frowned, confused. "I am perfectly well. Forgive me if I seem improprietous, but considering the situation, I really must know these answers if I am to help you. Please, Miss Elizabeth, I will not judge you. I swear on all I hold dear that I only wish to act as your friend. You do not deserve to be cut off from all who love you, relegated to spending your life in obscurity. Let me help you."

She stared at him, moved by his plea despite herself. Could it be that he did not know? It was practically impossible, but it had to be true. No person could be as good of an actor as this man before her would have to be for his words to be false.

"At least tell me when it happened," he finally said, looking defeated. "Was it an… ongoing interaction?"

"Of course not," she answered quickly, blushing. "What sort of woman do you think I am?"

He breathed out, relieved. "Until today, madam, I would never have considered having this conversation with you at all. I am simply trying to understand."

She supposed she could not blame him for asking. She bristled internally—could she blame him? Oh, she didn't understand what was happening here!

"It happened in mid-November. A single night."

"So the child will be born in…"

"The end of the summer."

He looked urgent suddenly and finished crossing the room toward her. "Are you well? You said they provide a doctor's care here? Is the child… is all as it should be?"

"I am well," she answered, blushing at such an intimate question but wanting to assuage his concern. "My sisters here believe it might be twins."

His eyebrows raised, and he grasped her hand, practically forcing her back onto the sofa and taking the seat beside her. "Twins," he breathed. "That can be dangerous."

"There is no reason to worry yet," she said soothingly, all the while wondering why she was comforting him. "It is just a theory."

He looked down, troubled, still chafing her hand as he held it tightly. Suddenly, he seemed to realize what he was doing and released it like a hot coal. She folded her hands together, blushing for his sake and her own.

"And where did it happen?"

She blushed more deeply. "I do not see how that's relevant."

"Well, since you won't tell me the man's name outright, I must go at it from any direction I can."

Elizabeth smirked at his directness then raised her head to watch him as she gave her answer. "It happened at Netherfield, while I stayed to care for Jane during her illness."

Mr. Darcy's eyes bulged, and then he closed them, covering them with a hand. "One of the Netherfield servants?"

"No."

"One of mine?"

"No."

"Someone in Meryton? An old friend? A neighbor?"

"No, sir."

He struggled, thinking through who the potentials might be. He stiffened and stared up at her in horror. He opened his mouth to speak but closed it quickly, seemingly unable to bear the words he might say.

She saw him struggling, and though still confused, she was seized upon with a desire to relieve his suffering and open her own understanding.

"I cannot bear to ask, Miss Bennet, but there are others… Did Mr. Hurst… Or B-b-bingley…?"

She stood suddenly, struggling to her feet and crossing the room away from him. She heard him rise to his feet behind her, polite even in the midst of his agony.

"It happened two nights before I left Netherfield, sir. A Friday night. We had all spent the evening in the parlor, though I do not remember what we did there or of what we spoke. I only remember feeling frustrated and impatient to return home. Jane was mostly improved, and she could see that I was weary from getting so little sleep and from the emotional trial of staying in a home where the better part of the residents wished for nothing more than my instant removal. She begged me to take some of the medicine the doctor had left, really just some wine and laudanum to help her sleep. I refused at first, but I was truly so tired, and she was so insistent, that I gave in, taking just a little.

"I felt its effects almost immediately, making me both very happy and extremely sleepy, so I bid Jane goodnight. I was already in my nightclothes, so I moved down the hall quickly so as not to be seen and entered my bedroom, going straight to my bed and lying down. I remember nothing more until…"

Her voice trailed off, and she blushed, facing the window and struggling to keep going. How could she say these words to this man, and yet, what had she to fear from him?

"Please," he said roughly. "Please tell me."

"When I awoke, the room was dark except for one lit candle, and I was experiencing the strangest sensation. It took me several seconds to realize that I was being kissed, on my neck and under my jaw. I was extremely aware of every detail—the sensation was powerful, as was the scent of alcohol and the scarlet of the bed curtains—but I was unable to move, pinned to the bed by a sort of alert laziness. I never even considered leaving. I was simply curious and overwhelmed.

"Finally, the man moved his head away, raising up to look at my face. I knew him instantly, but his expression was different than I had ever seen on his face before. He was intense and tender, and he let his hand come off the bed to cup my cheek. He called me his love, said my name so reverentially that I could scarcely breathe, and said he had waited all his life for me but never imagined I would come to him."

"I should have spoken, demanded an explanation and sent him away, or even uttered a cry for help, but at the time, I heard only the sweetness of his words, and I didn't think I could speak at all. Then he kissed me again."

Elizabeth had gotten lost in her words, in the memory of that night, but she came back to herself suddenly, gazing out the same window through which Mr. Darcy had been staring only a few minutes before. She wanted to turn around, to see his reaction, but she couldn't bear it.

"The rest of the night was… The memory is like watching something out of a dream, almost as if it happened to someone else. So much emotion, so much sensation, so many whispered endearments and words of love. At some point I know the laudanum wore off—my memories suddenly become much clearer—but I was too involved by that point, too caught up in the experience to pull away, and every moment when I calmed enough to have been able to experience regret, I was suddenly pulled back in, swallowed up in a reality I couldn't begin to understand."

"We finally lay exhausted, his arms around me and his face buried in my hair. He said… he said my hair smelled like lavender, that surely God would grow lavender in Heaven. We fell asleep, and when I opened my eyes again, it was nearly dawn. It was only then that the reality of what happened descended upon me."

She felt heavy now, all the embarrassment of the revelation drifting away and leaving only misery. "I knew he had been drunk, as impaired in his way as I was, and in the very early light, I realized that in my drugged almost-sleep, I had retired to a room besides my own, obviously his. He had thought I was offering myself, and my reaction certainly would not have convinced him otherwise. I was horrified at what I'd done, at what we'd done, but I remembered his tenderness, his whisperings of love, and thought perhaps all would be well. I did not know him well—in fact, the man he'd been in his room that night had been entirely foreign to me—but I thought that if he had inside him the man I'd… known, then I could marry him.

"Then fears overwhelmed me, fears that he would, in the light of day, regret our assignation, and I could not bear to wait for him to wake. I ran from the room, luckily meeting no one, and hid in my own room all morning, claiming to be tired. Finally I talked myself into emerging, deciding it would be better to know than to worry. When I first encountered him that day, I braced myself for any sort of reaction, but the only one for which I had not prepared was indifference.

"He acted as if he didn't even know I was in the room. He spent all day pretending I didn't exist, even when I purposely placed myself in a room alone with him for almost half an hour. I spent all day preparing a way to approach him but always lost my courage at the last moment. I could hardly believe it, and by that evening I was so despondent that I begged my sister to leave the next day. She could tell something was wrong, but I couldn't confide in her."

"In the days that followed, I decided that I would never speak to another soul of what had occurred. I could, of course, never marry, so I would live with Jane for the rest of my life, the beloved aunt. I had accepted that as my fate, and I only prayed I would never again before forced into company with that man. The next week, I came upon a gentleman who told me things that only confirmed the callousness of said man, making me even more aware of the hopelessness of my cause. I had accepted all, spending most days in a mire of remorse but trying not to let anyone see it.

"Then, when my time did not come the next week, all my hope disappeared. I recognized the signs of a baby, and of course I could no longer keep it all to myself. The only one in whom I could confide was my Aunt Gardiner, and she told me of Suzanna and Havenswood, although she begged me to share the truth with my family and to approach the gentleman and see whether he would right me. I had little confidence, but I would never forgive myself for not trying, if only for the sake of my child.

"On the night of the ball at Netherfield, November twenty-sixth, I prepared to approach him. I planned to corner him somewhere, to force him to hear me out, as our interactions since I'd left Netherfield had been practically non-existent. Much to my surprise, he asked me to dance, and he seemed thoughtful. I hoped he would listen to my plea, perhaps that he had even decided he held some affection for me, but our conversation failed almost before it began. He frustrated me, and I insulted him, and he disappeared. All hope was lost."

Elizabeth suddenly felt exhausted, as full of the emotion now as she had been that night. She wanted to sit, but she couldn't bear to turn around, or even to move, because she wasn't sure she'd be able to finish.

"That night, as soon as the rest of my family had gone to bed, I packed a small valise, stole twenty pounds from Papa's desk, and sneaked out of the house. I wore a deeply hooded cloak and caught the first post to London. I got off at a stop along the way and switched roads, beginning my journey to Surrey. There was a gentleman traveling to the same place I was. He had a kind face, and when I accidentally revealed my destination, he grew grave but offered even greater sympathy. When we exited the carriage late that night, he conducted me here. It was only at that point that I discovered he was here to visit his own daughter, who had left her home for the same reason I had but managed to remain in contact with her father over the several years of her stay."

She sighed, trying to shake off her deep melancholy. She had not mentioned the troubles and sorrow of that trip to him, and she never would. "And now I am here, and I am learning the skills to be hired as a housemaid, or as a seamstress or governess, once my child is old enough to leave for the days, or even for a few weeks at a time. I am surrounded by kind women who have also made mistakes but desire to make something of their lives, and we support and care for one another as best we can. And now you are come, asking strange questions and behaving as if you have no idea of what I speak. Can you truly say you are not being cruel?"

Her final words sounded accusing, but honestly, she was left with no emotion but relief. To have gotten it all out, to have him know all that had happened in the weeks after the night they spent together, was more than she had ever imagined.

There was no sound behind her, no sound for long enough that she had to turn around to make sure he was still there. A moment later, she almost wished she hadn't. The paleness of his countenance and the shaking of his hands were bad enough, but the abject desolation of his expression filled her with regret.

"Mr. Darcy?" she questioned gently, moving slowly towards him. "Sir, are you all right?"

His eyes followed her movement, but she wasn't sure he could actually see her. He looked lost, and his devastation, which she had thought for months would bring her a most pleasant vengeance, instead broke her heart.

She moved until she stood right in front of him, and then with some difficulty, she knelt on the floor in front of him. His eyes stayed on her, as if they were tied to her, and she reached out to take his hands. "How is it that you did not remember? I can see from your face that you did not, but I do not understand how."

She was relieved when he finally began to speak, although the halting, emotionless words sounded almost like the voice of someone else coming from his mouth. "I thought it was a …a dream. I'd dreamt of you… so often already by then… though never with such vividness. I'd had too much to drink… trying to drown the thoughts of you that kept me awake… so many nights. When you were gone the next morning… there was no evidence of your presence…"

"Only my nightdress was soiled," she said, blushing but determined to help him understand. "I burned it when I got back to my room."

"The more I awakened, the more I realized what I'd dreamt was impossible," he continued stiffly. "I decided you had become a dangerous obsession. I determined to ignore you entirely, to try to extract myself, though at every moment, memories of what I thought was a dream threatened to ruin my resolve. I never imagined… I never thought it possible…" He trailed off. After several seconds, he closed his eyes and slid to his knees before her, bringing his face almost beside hers and inhaling deeply. "Lavender in heaven. You know not how that scent has tortured me."

Elizabeth felt a shiver run down her spine. How was it that after all these months, after all her misery and anger and loneliness, all it took to weaken her knees was the reality of this man before her?

"Elizabeth," he whispered, all the agony now returned to his tone. He repeated her name, sounding entirely shattered, and dropped his forehead onto her shoulder as if all the life had just drained from his body.

She couldn't help her response—she raised her arms and wrapped them around his shoulders, holding tighter as his breathing hitched and a few tear drops landed on her chest. She hadn't wanted to break him, had never imagined her words could affect him in such a way. Her own eyes stung, and she cried with him, cried for her own pain but even more for his, sure now in the knowledge that this was a good man who'd made a mistake, just as she was a good woman.

_Thank you, God, _she thought, _for bringing him here to me_.

They stayed that way for several minutes, although as soon as they'd managed to calm, she realized that her knees had thought it was hours. She shifted in her place and let out an involuntary groan.

Immediately his head shot up. "I'm so sorry, Elizabeth. Are you all right?"

"It's just my knees, sir. They begin aching quickly these days."

"Oh!" He reached for her hands and raised her easily, despite her added bulk, then lowered her onto the sofa, sitting beside her and clutching her hands like lifelines. "I had no idea… the sorrows and discomforts you've been enduring… all because of my thoughtless passions."

"We were both foolish that night," she assured him. "We both have decisions to regret. But neither of us is as fully to blame as we might be, and neither of us intended any harm. You know not what a relief it is, what a blessed lifting of my burden, to know that you never intended to use me and then cast me aside, that I was not simply duped into believing better of you."

"I cannot imagine the burden you've borne. That I might ever have made you feel so worthless—I will never forgive myself for that! And I will spend the rest of my days making it up to you."

Elizabeth felt her stomach clench into a tight knot. "Please, do not…"

"I will care for you, Elizabeth, I swear it. You have no need to stay here alone. I will take you away from here—you and the child shall want for nothing." His eyes widened. "Or the children. Twins! My children." He looked both haunted and reverential.

"No."

He brought his attention back to her. "I beg your pardon?"

"No. Please, you needn't burden yourself with us. I already told you—we will be well cared for here. There is no place where we would be happier. I am surrounded by friends, I will be gainfully employed, and _my_ child will be raised up to contribute well to the world around him."

"You… you want to stay here?"

"I believe I was already clear about this. I will be no man's 'unfortunate mistake.' I don't want to live alone in a small home on some out-of-the-way estate, surviving uselessly on an annual stipend for our care, and I do not want my child to live its' life as a rich man's bastard. We would be better off here."

"Elizabeth," Mr. Darcy said after a moment, his voice low and tender, "you and I do not know each other nearly as well as we should, and being transparent in our communication may always be a challenge since I am unskilled at sharing my thoughts or feelings. However, let me try to make myself very clear to you. Will you listen and believe me?"

She nodded slowly.

"I do not want you as my mistress, Elizabeth, and I do not want to place you somewhere forgettable like a shameful mistake. I am a man who takes his duty seriously, and my duty now, above all else, is to correct my errors with you. I will marry you. I will take you away from here, back to Pemberley where you can carry and bear our child in peace. Is that clear enough?"

She was relieved that he would not choose to be ashamed of her, but that did not remove the sting of all his words. She thought through what he'd just said, giving herself time to try and understand, and when she still came up unhappy, she decided to take him at his word and test his openness. She removed her hands from his and sat up straighter. "So you want to marry me out of duty? Forgive me, sir, but that is still not what I want. I would rather spend the rest of my life alone than force either of us into a marriage of duty. I thank you for your good intentions, but I cannot accept your kind offer."

Mr. Darcy released a frustrated huff of air, looking so boyish suddenly that she was instantly charmed, and in the next instant, completely annoyed with herself. "I do not want to marry you out of duty, blast it all. I want to marry you because I am in love with you!"

She felt her eyes widen, but she contained any other markers of surprise. He'd implied as much before, at least that he'd been more than a little drawn to her in Hertfordshire, and his whispered endearments on that fateful night had been more than clear, but the idea of him loving her even now, after so long, was almost impossible to believe.

"I cannot imagine why," she blurted, covering her mouth a second too late.

His eyes softened. "Can you not? I have been in love with you since… well, I can't even say when. I admitted it as soon as we received the news of your disappearance and I felt my heart burst with misery, but as you are well aware…" He coughed, trying to hide a blush. "…My feelings for you were quite engaged by the time you left Netherfield with your sister. You are beautiful and witty, but you are so much more than that. You are selfless and kind, you are loyal to a fault, you are clever and intelligent, well-read and thoughtful. When you are in a room, no other can hold my attention, and when I speak to you, it is as if no one else exists. At Netherfield, I used to start arguments with you on purpose. Did you know that?"

She shook her head vaguely, unable to stop staring at him.

"I loved watching your eyes flash in your righteous indignation, loved the way you defended the things you believed. I even loved your sharp attacks against Miss Bingley, the way you set her down without ever behaving badly. I know I only truly knew you for a few weeks, but you've changed me, Elizabeth. I have spent the last seven months barely living in my own skin, my thoughts always with you wherever you might be, praying for your safety and that I might find you and bring you home."

His eyes dimmed. "You've no idea the pain of discovering that I was the cause for your leaving in the first place. That I am the source of my own torture is horrifically ironic." Then he looked back at her, his expression pleading. "I see now how differently you saw the last weeks of our time in Hertfordshire than I did, and you might justly hate me for the pain I've caused you. It had even been made clear to me, from some references by Bingley, your sister, even your aunt, that you thought much less of me during those weeks than I did of you. I'd forgotten my tactless comment about your appearance the night of the assembly until Bingley reminded me of it when questioning my dedication to continuing the search for you. I was a fool, the world's greatest fool, and as far as I can tell, you know no actual good of me, but I can only confess my feelings for you and beg for an opportunity to convince you that I can be a man worthy of your love."

He hung his head, as if already bracing himself for her rejection.

Her mind raced. She couldn't discover what her feelings were or even figure out how to pin them down to examine them. They were moving and shifting too fast, too many contradictions and questions and uncertainties to grasp onto them. But she had to speak. She owed him an answer.

"Sir, I…" She bit her lip, ridiculously moved by the reluctant hope in his eyes as he looked back up at her. "I know not what to think, or what to do. The entire world, the history of the most influential months of my life is, I have today discovered, wholly different from what I thought it to be. You love me? It is outside of all I have come to understand. And yet, I cannot disbelieve you. I cannot even consider it."

"You believe me because it is true," he said, his hands ghosting over hers again. "Let that night we spent together stand as condemning evidence. Every word I spoke to you was true, every feeling of my heart earnest. It was the pain of believing it all a delusion that led to the rest of my stupidity, for I could not bear having thought I'd gained you only to discover it to be impossible."

"But your loving me, loving that memory of me, does not mean we would be happy. I…" She swallowed, fearing to cause him more pain. "I do not know you at all, and therefore I know not whether I would be happy or whether our marrying would be best for my child. I cannot marry you without knowing my own heart."

She was surprised that instead of looking dejected, he seemed almost eager. "Then know your own heart, I beg of you. When did you say the child will be born? September?"

She stared at him but managed to answer, "Around the end of August, although it will be sooner if it is truly twins."

"Twins!" he said again, this time looking a little dizzy. She almost giggled. He rushed on. "It will not matter so much if we wait then, will it? Not as long as we marry before the birth."

"Wait?"

He stared at her intently again as he slid off the couch onto one knee before her. "Elizabeth, allow me to court you. Let yourself come to know me better. Give me the chance to earn your love, your respect and admiration. I have been a fool, but I have learned much these past few months, much of myself and much of the world around me. I am humbled in ways I never imagined." He looked down at himself and laughed. "I am literally on my knees before you. And if in six weeks you still wish to remain here rather than marry me, I will do whatever you wish, even if that means leaving you alone. But please, let me try."

"Sir," she began, but her voice evaporated. She cleared her throat. "I…" Why could she not decide? Where had all her newfound confidence gone? Finally, she released another groan. "Oh, I cannot give you an answer! I cannot settle my thoughts! These are too many revelations for one morning."

"Of course," he said immediately, rubbing the backs of her hands soothingly with his thumbs. "Of course you needn't decide this moment. I shall… leave you, if you wish. May I return tomorrow?"

She could suddenly breathe again. "Yes," she said, her voice full of gratitude. "Yes, come back tomorrow afternoon. I am in the kitchen tomorrow morning."

He leaned back, dismayed. "They make you work in the kitchen? Like a scullery maid?"

She raised an eyebrow. "You said you were humbler now, Mr. Darcy?"

He looked sheepish. "I'm sorry—being a maid is honest labour. But you are a gentlewoman, and you were not bred for such a life."

"I am no gentlewoman here, sir, and even if I were, what is so different about a young lady that makes her above useful work? I have learned more in the last seven months here, sir, than I have in the last seven years at home, at least in terms of usefulness. Going back to a life of long, aimless walks, bored plinking on a pianoforte, and reading philosophy will be next to impossible. I suppose you must prepare for that, if you truly want me as your wife."

She could see him thinking carefully, planning out his words. The expression was familiar, and she suddenly wondered how many times she had given him credit for judging or disdaining when he was only being cautious.

"You are correct, I believe, that most young ladies are raised up in a sort of exalted idleness, and I have no objection whatsoever to your desire to make a meaningful contribution to whatever home you choose for yourself. My only concern would be whether you would plan to beat the carpets and muck the stables yourself. My wife, hopefully you, will have far too many duties to be wasting her time doing someone else's job. That would make both her and the one she displaced useless."

Elizabeth cocked her head thoughtfully. "And what are the duties of the future Mrs. Darcy?"

He smiled a little. "Mrs. Darcy will be the rightful mistress of my homes, both in London and at Pemberley. She will be the keeper of keys. She will be responsible for maintaining order and discipline among my staff, discussing and planning menus, acting as hostess to make sure any and all guests are well-entertained and cared for, chaperoning my younger sister until she marries, and supervising the education of any and all of our children. She will be responsible for the well-being of my tenants, a weighty job all on its own. She will be responsible, given her place in society, for handling all invitations, most social correspondence, and any dinners, gatherings, or house parties we conduct. And last of all, she will be the keeper of the Master of Pemberley, responsible for managing his needs, his moods, his duties, and his desires, with skill, balance, fairness, and, I hope, tenderness."

The early part of his description left her head spinning—so much for being useless! Yes, someone else could do all those jobs, take on all those duties, as she suspected he'd been doing for a long time, but they were the rightful role of Mrs. Darcy. Could she live up to such expectations?

The latter part of his description, however, made her stomach roll and her skin tingle all at once. To be the keeper of the heart of the Master of Pemberley—the idea was surprisingly appealing, which was ridiculous considering her general confusion.

"There is obviously more to being your wife than I had at first considered," she said, trying to prevent herself from blushing again. "It would take many more years here before I felt prepared for such a responsibility."

"Anything new takes time, but you are already equipped with all the tools you need," he said confidently. "You are intelligent, honest, loving, wise, and kind. And you are, I think, determined to be the best you can be at whatever you do. That is all you need. Well, besides my heart. You already have that, too."

She rolled her eyes at him, and he grinned in response. His smile was so cheerful, so unexpected, that it flipped her stomach again.

"You are very forward," she chided, trying to look unimpressed.

He seemed to see right through her, only smiling wider. "I promised I would be entirely honest. I am only keeping my word."

"Hmmm." Finally, she allowed a small smile, and his grin turned smug.

She moved to stand, deciding she needed to end the interview quickly before he caused her any more confusion. He shot to his feet and helped her up courteously, but he didn't release her hand.

"I will go now, Elizabeth," he said, perfectly serious again, "and I will return tomorrow afternoon. I pray you will think carefully, and I hope you decide to trust me, to give me a chance. After all, what harm could it do?"

_What harm, indeed?_

Aloud, she said, "I will think carefully, and I will tell you my decision tomorrow."

He nodded then raised her hand to his lips. "I am sorry, my love, sorry for all you have suffered." He kissed her fingers softly.

His eyes were troubled, and without forethought, she reached out and ran her fingers across his cheek, cupping his jaw. "I am sorry, too, for your suffering, both for the last few months and for the pain I suspect you will allow yourself to suffer as soon as you leave here. I may not know you as well as I should, but I believe I do know you are a man of deep feelings. Forgive yourself, as I have forgiven both of us. Do it for my sake if not for your own."

He covered her hand with his, holding her gaze intently. "I will try."

She smiled softly, but instead of returning her smile, his gaze intensified and swept over her face. He changed his grip on her hand, sliding his fingers slowly over hers, making them light up with warmth like stoked embers. She couldn't look away from him as he slid her hand over his cheek and onto his lips, placing a lingering kiss on the knuckle of each one of her fingers.

Her mind flashed back to similar kisses on the sensitive skin of her hand, his final kiss just before they both fell asleep that night seven months before. The warmth in her fingers spread like lightning through the rest of her body, so much more vibrant and dangerous now that she knew he remembered things exactly as she did.

"Until tomorrow, my love," he said, his eyes dark.

"Good day, sir," she answered, her voice embarrassingly breathy.

He released her hand finally and turned away, striding out the parlor door. He turned back just before disappearing, pausing in the hallway and giving her a penetrating look full of a thousand emotions. Then he left, and she listened to the sound of his exit, following it even to the beating of his steps on the stone of the front path.

She stepped backwards until her legs bumped the seat of a chair, and she sank onto it, overwhelmed. She sat there for an unknown amount of time, feeling full and yet completely blank.

She finally looked up at the sound of a tentative knock at the door.

"Beth?"

"Suzanna."

"He has gone?"

"Yes."

Suzanna swept in gracefully despite her reliance on a cane she'd found somewhere. She came and took the seat across from Elizabeth, looking at her seriously.

"That was him, wasn't it? The father of the child?"

"How did you know?" Elizabeth asked vaguely, suddenly exhausted.

"I could see it by the scared-rabbit look on your face, my dear. I thought you said no one knew of your situation."

"I thought no one did, no one but my aunt. She sent him here."

"And what did he have to say?"

"Oh, Suzanna!" she breathed, overrun by her array of emotions. "Oh, Suzanna!" Then she laid her head into Suzanna's lap and cried like a child. Suzanna stroked her hair gently, making patient, soothing noises, and even in the midst of her collapse, Elizabeth wondered how many other young women she'd comforted in just the same manner.

Finally, after gaining some control, she told Suzanna everything, all the truths she'd chosen not to reveal upon coming here. Suzanna had never asked questions, except needing to know whether any angry relatives might be seeking Elizabeth, making trouble for everyone. Now Elizabeth shared it all, down to the confusing morning and the conflicting feelings she was experiencing.

"Oh, my dear one," Suzanna said kindly, "you have suffered so much. It is all right to be confused, to not know what you want. Give yourself some time to adjust. And then tomorrow, tell the man that he may court you."

Elizabeth sat up, stunned. "What? I thought you said it was all right to be confused."

"I did. But my dear, from what you are saying, I think it's very clear that you are uncertain of your future, but you seem very sure that he is a good man who loves you deeply and wants to take care of you. It is only your fear that would keep you from giving him the chance to win your heart."

"My fear? But he offers me a life of ease and honor if I marry him. Isn't that the easy way out?"

"Of course not! The easy way would be to choose what you know here just because you are afraid of the unknown with him, no matter how attractive it may be. Be honest with yourself—you want him to court you."

Elizabeth thought for a moment then very slowly nodded her head. "You are right. I do."

"And while you are recognizing things about yourself, you should also be aware that although you are confused by all the hurt and pain of the last few months, your feelings regarding this man are exceptionally tender. I may be wrong, but knowing you as I do now, I believe you are closer to being in love with him than you think."

"But Suzanna, that makes no sense!"

"Love rarely makes sense, child. But think how protective you were of him today, even when you thought he was being deliberately difficult. The night you spent together changed your view of him. All your anger since then only covered up your attachment to him."

"That does not mean he is a good man," Elizabeth said weakly.

"No, and you are wise to insist on a time of courtship so you can learn more about him. You may come to discover that the two of you would be terrible to one another." She waited for a moment, looking deeply into Elizabeth's eyes. "But I do not think that is what you expect, is it?"

"No," Elizabeth whispered, overwhelmed again. "I expect he'll turn out to be every bit the incredible man I believe him to be."

Suzanna smiled sympathetically. "Six weeks should be plenty then."

"I _am_ frightened, Suzanna. I do not know what these next weeks will bring. I am not ready to…"

"Not ready to be happy?"

"I have been happy here!" Elizabeth offered defensively.

"No, dearest. You've been content. That is different from real happiness, and much less frightening."

Elizabeth had no argument.

"Allow him to court you. Allow yourself to love him if he deserves it. Allow yourself to be happy, my dear. We all deserve the chance, but few of us receive it. Take it, for all our sakes."

Elizabeth felt tears in her eyes now, but this time it was with gratitude. "Thank you, Suzanna. You are wonderful."

"You are right," she shrugged elegantly. "I am."

They laughed together, helping each other rise, and as Elizabeth left the parlor, she knew that her life would be different now, that this day, this man, had once again changed everything. And this time, she was sure it would turn out for the better.


	3. Chapter 3

_I know I never guaranteed a posting schedule, but I apologize for taking longer than I had planned for this chapter. Writer's Remorse combined with a Stomach Flu is apparently a lethal combination. By the way, I've gone back and edited the first two chapters for some timing issues. I thought I had worked out all the details before I started posting, but I was way off. To clarify, the first two chapters (and the beginning of this one) happen near the end of June, and Elizabeth's projected due date is around the end of August. _

_I'm still not Jane. _

_Havenswood, _Chapter Three

"Why do they call you Beth?"

Elizabeth jumped to her feet, dropping her pencil and allowing her sketchbook to slide to the grass beneath the white wrought-iron table. "Mr. Darcy!"

He stood very near, leaning casually on his walking stick on a pathway leading around from the drive, and she wondered how she'd managed to become so absorbed in her drawing that she hadn't heard his approach. He looked as elegant as ever in his olive-green coat, and of course just as handsome, although Elizabeth noticed that his boots were not quite as well polished as she'd seen them in Hertfordshire.

He came forward quickly, bending to retrieve her book and pencil. He held them out to her then bowed as she accepted them. She curtsied automatically before remembering how difficult that movement had become and mentally bemoaning her aching back. Mornings in the kitchen were always enjoyable, but her body was paying a higher and higher price for them.

"You look lovely this morning," Mr. Darcy said gravely, his eyes traveling over her face.

She'd heard such a polite compliment a thousand times before, but this was the first time it had ever made her blush. "Thank you, sir. You look…" She had been about to say _well_, but the word cut off as she glanced up at him. "Terrible. Did you sleep at all?"

He smiled at her ruefully, the redness of his eyes and the drooping of his expression twisting her heartstrings. "Rest was difficult to find last night, I fear."

She opened her mouth to scold him but stopped herself. "I suppose I shall allow you one night of misery, sir, but no more. You _will_ sleep tonight."

"I am not certain," he said, his smile slipping away, "that either you or I could enforce that command. I can only promise to try and rein in my thoughts for a few hours at a time each night. I seem helpless to manage it the rest of the day, but I shall attempt it after sundown."

Mr. Darcy motioned to her seat at the table, but she shook her head, pointing toward a walkway leading into the gardens. He nodded and offered his arm, which she grasped very lightly, maintaining a most respectable distance between them.

"I know," Elizabeth said quietly after they had passed through the garden gate, "that you are suffering, sir. I cannot help but wish to alleviate it. You see that I am well enough here, that I have been… content. Of course I had never envisioned my life turning out this way, but I am well and safe. Allow that to comfort you."

He remained silent, dark and brooding.

"The doctor visited this morning," she offered, hoping to draw him out. "He affirmed that all is as it should be. We are both doing very, very well."

No response. Seven months ago, she would have thought he was judging, feeling above his company, but all that had changed. She could see the tension in his jaw, the stiffness of his movements, and the glaze over his eyes, and now she understood that he was very deeply unhappy.

"I am learning to draw—you saw my sketchbook back there. Lucille, our sister who teaches the lessons, says I have 'potential,' which all of us know is her way of saying that I will never become a true artist but she admires my effort. If you are ever in need of a good laugh, I will show you my rendition of a basket of fruit."

He didn't even try to smile.

Elizabeth's carefully checked feelings burst open. She stopped in the middle of the path, surprising him into facing her. Then, pulling herself up to her full height, she glared at him. "Very well. You will not speak? Then I will not speak. I will not speak until you admit that you deserve some clemency from your own punishment. We will walk through the garden in silence for hours, you will never hear me tell you that I want you to court me, we will spend a few days growing more and more uncomfortable with one another, and finally, you will give me up and return home, unsure why you ever felt more for me than disgust!"

His eyes widened. "You will allow me to court you? You _wish_ me to?"

She turned away as elegantly as an empress and continued walking forward down the path.

He caught up with her easily. "That _is_ what you said, is it not?"

She let her fingers run across the tops of the roses blooming behind the small wooden fence that ran the length of the path.

"Elizabeth, why…?" He stopped speaking, and she felt him examining her. "You cannot be serious. You cannot refuse to speak to me until I beg my own pardon."

Her steps were relentless, forcing him into a strange sort of sideways jog. She would have laughed had she not been so irritated.

"I will admit that the circumstances of the evening were uniquely adapted to make our normally innocuous actions dangerous, but I cannot forgive my own stupidity for over-imbibing or the lack of self-control that led me to seduce an innocent."

She wanted so badly to speak, but she suspected that any argument she could make would be less effective than her current strategy, so she remained silent and stony.

"I will acknowledge," he said, sounding somewhere between resigned and desperate, "that neither of us intended such an outcome, that my actions were the result of my reduced inhibitions, as were yours, and that had circumstances not conspired in such a way, I would never have done what I did. I would never have even implied that I wished to do it. I am a gentleman, and I was raised to behave with honor and dignity, guidance I have always tried to follow. I have never treated a lady in such an infamous way, nor indeed any woman. I had never even…"

His voice trailed off, and Elizabeth could not help but look over at his face. She raised her eyebrows at him eloquently.

He blushed faintly and fingered his cravat, as if he suddenly found it too constricting. "I feel that, in the interest of complete honesty, I must admit that… I had never even… been with a woman at all that way until that night. I know it is fashionable, even wise, for men of my age and circumstances to… Well, anyway, my father told me when I was a very young man that my primary duty was to my family. He insisted that I never do anything that would compromise our reputation, but he even more forcefully explained that my reputation would mean nothing at all if my future wife discovered bastard children, or if I had to watch my wife suffer the torments of a disease I had brought home because of other liasons. I have been tempted before, but I had never succumbed."

"Although," he added thoughtfully, "now that I consider it, I wonder whether perhaps I could have weathered the temptation better had I already… had I been more experienced. I mean, the idea to leave you alone never even crossed my mind that night. It was all too new and shocking. You were already featured in all my thoughts, both dreaming and awake. I was too thrilled, too overcome by my discovery that you obviously felt the pull between us as strongly as I did. I never considered resisting."

Elizabeth watched him, suddenly full to brimming with tenderness and appreciation for this man. She wanted to speak, to reassure him, but she kept quiet, instead settling for slowing her pace, leaning in closer to him, and resting her cheek for a moment against his arm.

"You are not disgusted with my ignorance?"

She shook her head, and the relief on his face made it apparent that he could see her approbation.

"You really aren't going to speak, are you?" he chuckled, raising his other hand and running the backs of his fingers along the side of her face. "So stubborn."

She smiled winningly up at him, and he laughed outright. He sobered then, but a twinkle remained in his eye. "So be it. Elizabeth, I admit that while we both made mistakes, I am not entirely culpable for our situation. I am not solely responsible, and although I may feel sorrow and regret, I will not drown in those feelings. Hopefully, in time, I will come to forgive myself."

"Thank you," she answered quietly. "I will hold you to that."

They walked on in silence. There had been a time when the quiet would have bothered her, been taken as evidence of his disdain or his lack of conversational skills, but she could tell now that he was simply a man who did not always need to speak. She was ashamed suddenly to remember the way she had judged him for his cautious thoughtfulness.

It wasn't until they'd almost reached the kitchen garden that he said, "So why do they call you Beth? Your family calls you Lizzy."

Elizabeth smiled sadly. "When I arrived, I didn't want to hear 'Lizzy' all the time, fearing it would make my break from home even more painful. I'd always rather liked 'Eliza' until Caroline Bingley began using it, so that was out of favor as well. 'Liz' is too short, and 'Betty' is too plain. So I settled on Beth."

"Why not Elizabeth?"

She would not meet his eyes. "It is a mouthful."

"Would you prefer I call you something else then?"

"No!" she answered too quickly. "I… I like it… from you. I just didn't want…" She trailed off, unable to finish. She couldn't tell him that even in her greatest moments of anger, the thought of the way he'd said her name that night had turned her stomach inside-out. "You may always call me Elizabeth."

Something about the look in his eye as he murmured, "Thank you. I shall," said that he at least suspected the truth of her reasons. But she pretended to herself that he did not know.

"And yes," she said, hoping to distract him, "I will allow you to court me. It would be ridiculous not to allow it, I think."

"Entirely ridiculous." His eyes twinkled again although his face remained serious.

"But now that I have agreed, may I list for you the concerns that made it difficult for _me_ to sleep last night?"

"Of course. I shall possibly add my own to the list when you've finished."

"Very well." She took a deep breath, gathering her thoughts. "In six weeks I will be one-and-twenty. We _cannot _ask my father for permission to marry—'tis simply more than I can face right now. I am too near my confinement to away to Scotland even if we wished to do so. Therefore, anything we choose to have exist between us would have to wait until then."

"Are you certain, Elizabeth, that we cannot ask your father? I'm sure he'll be displeased, even hurt, but he would want what is best for you regardless of his own feelings. Having his permission would significantly simply our circumstances."

"No!" she answered a little too vehemently. "No, I am sorry. I know it would be easier, but I… I cannot. I cannot face him, and I cannot even bear the thought of writing to him and admitting…" She covered her eyes with her free hand, trying to press back tears. "Please, I do not want him to know. Not yet."

Mr. Darcy gently pulled her hand away, gazing at her sincerely. "So be it then. We will solve this another way."

"Thank you," she breathed. She paused for a moment, reforming her thoughts, then continued. "The child is supposed to arrive in approximately two or two-and-a-half months. In theory that will provide a wide enough gap in which to affect a ceremony between us. However, if I am indeed carrying twins, or if something unexpected occurs, my time will come sooner. What would we do if the baby was born before we'd been able to marry?"

"I did manage to consider this amidst my self-flagellation last night," Darcy admitted, looking thoughtful. "I believe we must simply do all we can to assure that does not happen. I intend to return to London, partly to adjust my business affairs to allow for a longer absence and partly to reassure my sister, who could not at all understand why I had to leave so suddenly without telling her where I was going. I must also try and make amends to my aunt, Lady Catherine. My cousin and I usually visit her at Easter, but I remained in London instead, attempting to win over your relations."

"Lady Catherine? I had forgotten she is your aunt. Mr. Collins is most dedicated to her."

"Mr. Collins," Darcy said, his visage suddenly cloudy, "is at best a toady and at worst a mongrel."

"Mr. Darcy!" Elizabeth gasped, shocked at his vehemence. "What can have led you to say such a thing?"

"Only truth, my love. After you disappeared, Mr. Collins went haring off through the pastures in hunt of you, despite all evidence that you had left town. He was sure, he 'flattered himself,' that you would not have left on purpose when you must have been quite aware that a marriage proposal from him would soon have been coming your way."

"He said that?" Elizabeth guffawed, both shocked and amused by his audacity.

"Did you suspect his attachment?"

"Of course. I knew every day to expect his proposal, that is true, although it mattered so little to me considering my other problems at the time. I did think about marrying him and insisting the ceremony be quick, but I reevaluated my future when I happened to come upon him being quite cold and horrid to a child of one of the servants. I realized that my child would be better off with no father at all than having to call a man such as him 'Papa.'"

"I am a thousand times glad you realized it," Darcy said feelingly, covering her hand with his free one. "He spent several days comforting everyone with predictions that you were probably dead at the bottom of a river somewhere after taking a long walk. I could not decide whether I hated him more for such prophecies or for his claims that you returned his affections and would accept him readily should you return. Once it was proven conclusively that you had willingly left Hertfordshire by coach, he was mortified. Bingley said there was a most unpleasant scene at Longbourn after he made an insulting comment about you in front of your father. He was turned out of the house and forced to retreat to Kent."

"I can see why your feelings against him might be violent," Elizabeth sighed. "Thank goodness all my sisters escaped his marital schemings—I was afraid to leave them to him, I'll admit."

"Yes, well, the less said of him the better. Returning to our topic, I shall make a short visit of apology to Lady Catherine, adjust my affairs, have my lawyer begin drawing up the marriage documents, and purchase a special license."

"A special license?" Elizabeth's eyes widened. "But sir, those are prohibitively expensive."

"Nonsense," he replied immediately, almost scolding her. "The cost is trifling. And besides, it is the only way to accomplish what we need. With a special license, we may marry anywhere at any time as long as you've had your birthday. We can have the local reverend perform the ceremony while you are in childbed if we must."

"A most unpleasant thought," Elizabeth muttered.

"Have you a reverend here?"

"Indeed. Mr. Pippins is a good man, and he will gladly help us."

Darcy looked at her carefully. "You sound as if you are… fond of this clergyman."

"I am. He is an excellent man."

"Ah."

She waited for him to continue, but his thoughts seemed to have carried him away. She asked, "So you are to leave for a few days? Is that to be soon?"

He seemed to shake himself free of his preoccupation. "Yes. I shall leave tomorrow at first light."

"And how long will you be gone?"

"That depends on how long all my business takes. It may be as much as a fortnight."

"Fourteen days," she whispered. Why did she feel cold suddenly, despite the warmth of the midday sun and the shawl around her shoulders?

He rubbed his fingers over hers softly, drawing her attention to his face. "I half feared you would rejoice at my absence. I am pleased that is not the case."

Elizabeth straightened her back and smiled, trying to blow away the fog around her. "I simply wonder how it is we are supposed to know one another better if you are not here."

"I thought… well, I know the suggestion is improper, but considering our particular circumstances, I thought perhaps we could write to one another. I know we are not engaged, but… well, honestly, I don't care a jot. The societal mores that would condemn a repentant woman as good and kind and innocent as you suddenly mean almost nothing to me. Will you allow me to write to you, Elizabeth? And if you've something to say in reply, will you answer?"

She felt like a drowning sailor watching someone throw her a rope. "Yes! I mean, of course, if you wish."

He smiled again. "Is there a man around here anywhere? One who could address the letters for you so they are not noticeably feminine? Georgiana sometimes sees the letters first."

"Yes, I shall find someone to write the direction for me. I will write as 'Mr. Thomas Franklin.' But are you not planning on telling your sister what is happening?" She couldn't decide whether she wanted Miss Darcy to know or not.

"I will tell no one except my solicitor, who knows there will be a heavy price if he speaks. I will not risk raising difficulties until after we are wed. Assuming we shall be, of course," he added humbly.

"I suppose you are wise, for our families could cause us great difficulty. Mr. Darcy, even assuming all goes as you wish, assuming I accept your proposal and we manage to marry at the right time, that is still only the beginning of what we must face. Our families… the disapprobation on both sides… the anger and betrayal they will all feel…" Elizabeth could not speak anymore, suddenly overcome by the misery that had haunted her for several hours the previous night.

"They will have to accept it," Darcy said sternly, straightening as if already prepared for battle. "I am head of my family, and I make my own decisions. If your family chooses to have nothing to do with us, then that is their loss. If my family chooses to make trouble (for they would never spurn us publicly—they know how much influence I wield), they shall be cut off. And if society punishes us for our supposed misdeeds, what loss is that to us?"

"It would be my family's loss if they chose not to see me, but it would also be mine," Elizabeth said quietly, her heart aching. "Just as losing your family would be yours. And although we can claim society cannot harm us, its disapproval will be a wound that festers over time, dividing us and ruining our chances for happiness."

Darcy was silent for some moments, his eyebrows hanging low over his eyes. "Elizabeth, I do not know how to solve such a problem. You are correct in your assessment of the dangers of our union. Is it selfish of me that even knowing such possibilities exist, I am willing to risk them for the sake of our child, for the sake of my own heart?"

"I think it does make you selfish, sir," she answered, looking up into his face. "But apparently I am as selfish as you are, for I still want to see whether this can work. I have hope that if we can truly love one another, we could build a future with enough joy to make up for the troubles. And perhaps we can still find a solution, one that will patch some of the greatest holes in our happiness."

"Perhaps so," he said tenderly, again brushing his fingers along her cheek. "There should be a way to be happy without harming everyone else. There must be."

They wandered in the garden for a long time, sometimes quiet and sometimes not, sometimes speaking of things important and sometimes trivial. When they returned to the little white table after their long walk, Elizabeth smiled incredulously at the sight of a fully-laden tea tray. She collapsed into her former chair, her feet and back terribly sore but her soul full of peaceful contentment.

"Whoever left this," she called toward the kitchen, knowing there would be an open window nearby, "you are an angel!"

She heard a giggle, but she could not place it. Mr. Darcy looked amused as he sat across from her, glancing around as if he might spy a woodland sprite hiding behind a shrub.

Elizabeth sat forward to pour the tea, but he waved her back, filling her cup. "No, no. I have exhausted you without realizing it. The least I can do is prepare your tea."

"You are very kind."

"It is hard to remember that a woman who once walked three miles through the mud to visit her sister now has reason to struggle through a stroll in the gardens. Are you sure you do not wish me to suffer through this evening in agony of spirit again?" His tone was teasing, but his eyes were serious.

"Perhaps a little agony would be appropriate," she smirked, "but that is all. Such temporary disabilities are a relatively small price to pay for the life that grows inside me."

"You are… happy to carry that life?" he asked, surprised.

"That is my greatest struggle, sir. I regret my mistakes, I miss those I was forced to leave behind, and I cannot help but see several years of difficulties ahead because of them, but in spite of all that, I am filled with peace each time I think of this child inside me. I am told by my sisters here that such is not always the case for a mother-to-be, not even when the child was desired within a happy marriage. I have been blessed by God allowing me to _want_ this child, to love it already. That love has done more to ease the burden on my heart than anything else these past months."

"You will make a wonderful mother, my darling." The emotion with which Mr. Darcy spoke automatically brought tears to Elizabeth's eyes.

_And you will make a wonderful father_, she thought. She almost said the words, but she could not, not when such a sentiment felt so new to her. Instead she just smiled her gratitude.

Mr. Darcy looked down then, seemingly overcome by his emotion, and busied himself with his own tea. They drank in silence, and Elizabeth barely noticed him reaching for a treacle tart and taking a bite.

"This is an excellent tart," Darcy said, almost to himself. "I must have my cook at Pemberley get this recipe—her treacle tarts are always as hard as rocks."

Elizabeth became flushed with pleasure, and she hid her eyes by staring into her teacup as if mesmerized. They talked for a few more minutes, and then, as if reluctant to admit it, Mr. Darcy finally said seriously, "I must go now, Elizabeth. I must prepare for my departure tomorrow."

"Of course," she said, trying to look accepting instead of miserable. She rose to her feet slowly, wincing a little.

Mr. Darcy stood and jumped to her aid. "You will be all right? Your exertions today haven't injured you?"

She laughed. "Not permanently. I must constantly reevaluate my own capabilities, sir, and it is the most frustrating part of all this. I am not used to being unequal."

"I am sure you are not. Here," he said, removing a small piece of paper from his pocket and handing it to her, "is my address in London. You _will_ write to me?"

"Yes," she assured him, still laughing a little in order to cover her overjoyed response to his plea. "I shall reply to every letter, I promise."

"I know not what limitations my business will bring, but I will write as often as I can."

She grasped his hands with hers as he reached out. "Do not take on too much for my sake. I will be patient here."

He held her hands tightly, looking down right into her eyes then letting his gaze drift over her face. "I will return as soon as may be."

"I will be here."

"I will miss you," he finally said, letting the words escape from him like a bursting bubble as he raised her knuckles to his lips and kissed each hand fervently.

"And I you." She recognized the words as her own. Had it been the whim of a moment or an automatic reaction? Or were the words true?

His eyes lit up at her response, and some of the concern that had wound him so tightly seemed to ease. They finished their farewells, and he stepped back with a final kiss on her hand before releasing it. Then, without another word, he spun on his heel and strode around the corner, back the way he'd come, his walking stick ticking against the stones as he went.

Yes, she would miss him, although to what extent she wasn't yet certain. Time would tell, she supposed. Fourteen days was not really so long anyway. She was certain she couldn't miss him too much in only fourteen days.

* * *

Sixteen days later, Elizabeth stood on the kitchen stairs, holding an oilcloth over her head to protect her from the light drizzle of rain, her eyes trained desperately upon the furthest viewable corner of the approach to Havenswood.

"Beth, dear," Cecily said behind her, "come in out of the rain. You know the post probably won't arrive for another quarter of an hour at least, maybe more with the roads in such a state. You must be patient."

Elizabeth turned to her friend with a laugh. "You speak to me of patience? You, who cannot even wait for the pies to be done before sneaking a forkful of berries from the center?"

Cecily grinned wickedly, an expression that seemed strange on her fair, childish face. She was, in fact, the same age as Elizabeth, but she looked only fifteen or sixteen, which made the width of her waist that much more difficult to reconcile. "Food is different from men. Food we need not wait for—it will satisfy us regardless of how soon it is eaten. Men, on the other hand, must be trained, _prepared_, before they are ready to _satisfy_. I am never impatient with _men_."

Elizabeth blushed deeply, which made Cecily crow with delight. Despite her own situation, Elizabeth's experience with men was meager indeed when compared with Cecily's. She was certainly not one of the penitent women at Havenswood. She was only here because her wealthy, shopkeeper father didn't want her scaring away respectable business. She would be allowed to return home as soon as her child was weaned, and she would, Elizabeth was certain, return happily to her fraternizing.

"I wish you would not speak of all this so glibly," Elizabeth begged, knowing her plea would be ignored before she'd even spoken.

"Oh, Beth, you must learn not to be so serious about it all. Admit it: despite all that's happened, despite having to come here and leaving your home for a while, you still dream of your nights in your lover's arms."

"That does not make me proud," Elizabeth said instantly, her frustration growing. "Unlike your relationship, I never intended to do what I did. It just… happened. I have been trying to forgive myself for that since the very night it occured. I try as hard as I can not to dwell on it for fear that…"

"For fear that you'll remember how much you enjoyed yourself?" Cecily asked meaningfully.

"Yes," Elizabeth whispered, ashamed.

"I do not understand you at all, Beth," Cecily said sadly, coming onto the stairs far enough to squeeze Elizabeth around the shoulders and hide under the oilcloth. "Why let yourself be so unhappy about it? We are what we are—human beings with appetites and passions. That is nothing to be ashamed of."

"Isn't it?" Elizabeth asked rhetorically, turning back out to face the road.

Cecily sighed and hopped back into the kitchen doorway. "If you're so broken up about it, why do you wait so impatiently for a letter from your lover?"

"Because despite my mistakes and his, he is a good man. Our letters these past weeks have meant more to me… I cannot even explain. He has been so open with me, so unaffected. He has shared so much of his past, of his present, and of his hopes for the future. He may have been my lover once, but now he is…"

"What?"

"My friend," Elizabeth answered reverently. "I never even imagined he could be my friend."

Cecily started to speak, and Elizabeth turned her head over her shoulder to look at her. Cecily stood there, looking lost in thought. "A friend," she finally said, trying to laugh but not really managing it. "I suppose having such a friend might be… nice."

"It is nice, Cecily."

Cecily smiled weakly, her brightness dimmed a little. Then she waved gently and went back inside, closing the door.

Elizabeth turned back to the road, wondering whether perhaps she and Cecily had both learned something profound, and it took a moment for her eyes to focus on what she was seeing. The mail cart!

Seven interminable minutes later, after paying the necessary postage and carrying all the letters in where they would be dry, Elizabeth hung up her oilcloth haphazardly on a peg and sat on the nearest bench to look through them.

Her hands started shaking before she had reached the end because she had spotted one letter that stood out from the rest, a cream-colored, heavy paper much more elegant than most other correspondence. She sifted dutifully through all the others, holding out her moment of anticipation. Then, as she reached the one she'd noticed, she lifted it from the stack and held her breath.

"Mr. Thomas Franklin, Havenswood." The sender was listed as "F.D."

She jumped up, hugging the envelope against her and hurrying through the kitchen straight to the mail room. She'd willingly accepted mail duty this week, a job Suzanna had offered her out of sympathy after her need to be the first to receive the letters had grown more pressing. She slipped each letter into its appropriate slot in the wall of tiny boxes marked with names, then rushed upstairs, almost slamming into a bronze bust as she rounded the corner to her room.

However, upon entering it, she immediately withdrew. Her roommates, who were well-meaning but overly involved in one another's romantic entanglements, were all in the room, each one working on her studies or sewing quietly. She loved them, but she wanted to be alone.

She rushed back downstairs, looking around desperately. Where, oh where would be empty just now?

The formal parlor! No one would be visiting this early!

She darted inside, pleased to find the room empty. She settled on the settee, her favorite spot in the room, and cracked the wax on the back, not even stopping to admire the intricate seal. The letter was dated July 10th, only two days before.

"My darling,

"I know I told you I would bear our continuing separation with patience and tolerance, but I find myself perfectly unequal to the task. I was surviving, holding fast to my resolve, until I received your letter yesterday morning. I know there was nothing particularly extraordinary about it, no pleas for my immediate return or tales of dangerous happenings around your home to frighten me, but your simple stories of your life there and your childhood memories have created within me an urgency I can no longer fight.

"Your recounting of your practice-dinner with the youths who have been training for service was charming, so humorous that I laughed right out loud, surprising my cousin into inquiring as to the cause of my good cheer. He was relieved, I think, that anything could make me laugh, considering the dark and stormy aspect I have worn since I was forced to extend my stay here upon Lady C's whim. I still cannot forgive the woman's audacity. Yes, I know she is my aunt, and you might urge me to be respectful, but I find that impossible. I am tired of having to treat her references to my 'imminent marriage' to my cousin A with any sort of attention, and I am tired of her refusing to hear my earnest wish for my cousin's happiness as long as it doesn't include me. Her insistence on our extending our stay at Rosings, on pain of making Cousin F's life miserable by harassing his father about it, was despicable, and if I didn't care for my cousin so much, I wouldn't have borne it.

"F accepted my leaving with good grace, slapping me heartily on the back and thanking me for making it possible for him to leave as well. He cares for our yearly visit as little as I do. He must have been even more overjoyed than I had expected at his release because not ten hours later, he announced at dinner that he was called away and had to leave at first light. I know for a fact that he received no such urgent summons, at least not from his general, but I cannot resent his early escape. My only complaint regarding his hasty departure was that I hadn't the presence of mind to protect my belongings. My adult sensibilities seem to have finally overcome the inclinations of my youth, but the same cannot be said for F, who appears to have fallen back on the behaviors of his younger days and stolen my favorite walking stick again, the teak one with the ivory-and-brass handle. He has always had an irritating sense of humor.

"Tea this afternoon has reminded me, incidentally, of something I've neglected to share with you before now. Our visit was made even more abysmal this year than usual by the presence of our favorite parson and his new wife. It seems that he found a girl while visiting some relations in Norfolk, a young slip of a thing who seems barely old enough to be out at all, who came with some little money but no sense whatsoever. She says not a word except to my aunt: 'Yes, ma'am,' and 'Of course, ma'am.' F was driven to hiding in his room to escape all of us, and I have made the circuit of the park so many times in the past week that I can tell you exactly how many willow trees line each lane.

"In short, your letter, along with making me laugh, has convinced me to throw off Lady C's tyranny and return to London as soon as may be. I shall stay in the city just long enough to prepare to leave again, and then I shall ride for H as soon as possible. If all goes well, I shall perhaps even arrive before this letter. I have done all I can for the sake of my family, and now I will do all I can to staunch the wound your absence has left on my heart by returning to you.

"I love you, my darling, and I will be with you as soon as I can.

"Yours always,

"F.D."

Elizabeth leaned back and sighed, pressing the letter against her heart. It was not a true love letter. It contained no poetry or verse dedicated to her eyes or her countenance. But the honesty of the words, the openness of his address in all his letters, had done more to further his cause than any number of flowery sonnets.

Just then Michael's head popped into the room. "Please wait right here, sir. I will fetch her ladyship. Oh! Miss Beth! Forgive me—I didn't know the room was occupied."

"No, that's all right, Michael. I was just leaving."

Elizabeth rose to her feet with some effort, using the time to look over the gentleman who had just been introduced into the room. He was not a handsome man by any accounting, but his bearing was ramrod straight, and the greatcoat he still wore and the hat he carried declared his status. She wondered who he was—not old enough to be a father of one of the residents, but certainly a brother, a cousin, or a paramour.

He returned her appraisal with barely-concealed discomfort, clearly finding it very difficult to keep his gaze away from her middle. Elizabeth blushed faintly. She had grown so used to the sight of herself and the others wandering openly around the house that she'd nearly forgotten polite society's condemnation of the sight of a woman in the family way. She cast her eyes to the ground and moved as quickly as she could manage toward the door.

Her progress toward the exit halted instantly, however, when her gaze passed over the walking stick the gentleman was still gripping. It was made of a dark wood, noticeably exotic, and although he gripped it tightly, Elizabeth could see quite clearly the ivory handle inlaid with brass.

"Michael," she said slowly, her mind racing, "did you not offer to take the gentleman's things?"

"I offered, Miss Beth," he assured her proudly, "but he declined. Said he wasn't sure how long he was staying."

"And he is here to see…?"

"I asked for the master or mistress of the house," the gentleman said, narrowing his eyes at her slightly.

"Actually," Michael offered genially, "at first he asked to see a Mr. Thomas Franklin, but when I told him there was no such gentleman in residence, he asked…"

"Enough, young man," the gentleman said sharply, though not unkindly. "I am waiting."

Michael blushed, bowed, and disappeared in the blink of an eye, but Elizabeth didn't for a moment consider following him.

"Forgive my boldness, sir, but might I ask your name?"

"You may ask," he answered, looking grim, "but I may not answer."

She cursed the necessity of concealing names in the letters she and Mr. Darcy had been exchanging. "Your purpose then?"

"I am come seeking the sender of a letter, ostensibly a Mr. Thomas Franklin, although I seriously doubt that is the name of the individual I need to find."

"Why do you seek Mr. Franklin?"

His gaze sharpened on her, and despite Mr. Darcy's descriptions of his cousin, who she had no doubt was this man before her, as a genial man who laughed easily and liked a good joke, Elizabeth could see the fierce shrewdness that would make him a formidable commanding officer.

"Do you know… him?" he asked her warily.

"Perhaps. But I would know your purpose in seeking him before introducing you."

He evaluated her for another few moments before shedding some of his ferocity and relaxing his stance. "I mean no harm, truly. I am concerned for the welfare of someone I care for dearly, one who is not apt to share his secrets."

"What right have you to investigate them if this person does not wish you to know?"

"My…_ friend_ is normally wise and level-headed, but I fear his experience in… certain matters. I have begun to worry in the past few days that it might be a simple task to overcome said friend's better judgment if the point of attack was the heart."

She was uncertain whether or not to be relieved. "You want to protect this friend, so you come here secretly to discover the truths you were not told."

"Indeed."

"And you mean no harm?"

"I seek only understanding."

Elizabeth drew in a deep breath, praying that Mr. Darcy's faith in his cousin's character was well-founded. "Then I believe that I should introduce myself, sir. I am the author who signs her name 'Mr. Thomas Franklin.'"

The gentleman's eyes widened, and he took a step back from her. "You are the letter-writer?"

"I am."

His gaze swept over her form again, fixating on her middle. He opened his mouth to speak, paused, then drew in a deep breath. He turned away from her and paced two or three steps in front of a chaise, his hand agitatedly crinkling the brim of his hat. He noticed after a moment and flung the hat on a nearby table, laying the walking stick next to it. Finally, seeming to get possession of his thoughts, he turned back to her.

He motioned to her stomach. "Is it his?"

She felt like smirking at how quickly the gentleman had understood the situation compared to the slowness of his cousin, but she kept her expression serious. "It is."

He released a sigh. "And he knows?"

"Of course."

He stared for another moment or two then finally let his entire stance relax and released a bark of laughter. "Well, who would have thought?"

He stepped back toward a chair and moved to sit before remembering his manners and glancing hopefully at Elizabeth. She sat back on the settee across from his seat.

"I knew that could be what that letter meant, though it was not obvious enough to discount the idea of a secret engagement or a similar entanglement."

"The letter, sir? I take it you read one of my letters to Mr. Darcy?"

"Of course. I have never seen anything delight him so instantly! I could not help being curious. And now I cannot say whether I'm more impressed or disappointed. Darcy with a secret beloved is difficult enough to believe, but Darcy with a mistress! I never suspected! He always denied any interest in such liasons so vehemently! I suppose even the best of men need an outlet."

Elizabeth blushed again but knew not how to deny his assumption. She was not Mr. Darcy's mistress, not in truth, but _technically_… She shivered a little, feeling ashamed and disgusted by herself once again.

"Forgive me," he apologized quickly, sitting forward and grimacing. "I did not mean to insult you. I have no problem with Darcy making his own choices, and I'm sure he makes it worth your time. I've no doubt he will provide for the child."

She could not bear to look at him, wrapping her arms around herself. Was this how it would always be? Would every meeting with any of their family or friends always be full of such disgusting assumptions? Yet how could she blame him or defend herself?

"Sir, I do not doubt Mr. Darcy or his intentions with regards to myself and my child. In fact, I believe him to be one of the most honorable men I have ever known. It is only that… circumstances for us are _unique_, and I would not have you think less of your cousin because of a situation I find difficult to explain. He does intend to… treat me honorably."

Elizabeth took courage from her words and finally looked up at the gentleman, only to wish she hadn't as she watched his posture stiffen and his eyes bulge. "What? You cannot mean… he would not seriously consider marrying you. You would both regret such an alliance almost instantly. Society would ravage and toss you aside, and Darcy would diminish the prestige of his family as well as mine! The bloody fool! I _knew_ that there would be trouble once Darcy discovered his heart!"

Elizabeth tried to blink back the tears that were burning her eyes, and it took all her personal courage to swallow the thick lump in her throat and say quietly, "We recognize that it might be difficult at first, but society is fickle, and…"

"You delude yourself, madam, if you believe that mistresses are ever truly accepted into polite society. The whisperings may quiet over some years and with enough wealth, but they will never truly subside. And if there is anything Darcy hates, it's having someone question his position in the world."

"If you are entirely correct, sir, then you should have no concern over whether or not he is likely to marry me! If he is indeed so sensitive to the caprices of the Ton, then he would never consider making me an offer."

"But that is just the problem, isn't it, Miss Franklin? Darcy is an intensely cautious man, but once he has given his loyalty, he does not rescind it easily, even with an abundance of reasons. I fear that, caught up in a passion he was not equipped to fight, he has grown attached to you more deeply than is good for him, nay, for both of you."

Elizabeth found that her arms were wrapped around her chest again, as if they were all that was holding her emotions together. Perhaps his words would not have affected her so deeply had she not often thought them herself. What right did she have to allow Mr. Darcy's emotions (and, increasingly, her own) to push them into a future that could only bring them and their loved ones misery?

She bit her lip and turned away from the gentleman, pressing her fist against her mouth to contain the sob that wished to escape. Oh, why did he have to be so obviously concerned for his cousin? It would have been so much easier to ignore the truth of his words had he been abrasive, cross, or cruel! As it was, all she could feel was the depth of her own selfishness. How could she have ever thought it might be possible for them to marry and be happy? Their love would wither in melancholy before the child was a year old.

"Miss Franklin," he said from very close behind her, "I am sorry for causing you pain."

She spun to look at him and found him standing very solemnly, holding out a handkerchief. She accepted it and turned back to face the painting on the wall, an unremarkable pastoral landscape.

"You are in love with him, too, are you not?" he asked quietly.

She drew in a shuddering breath and tried to gather her scattered emotions. Finally, she whispered, "I believe that if I am not yet, sir, I would have been with only a little more time."

The gentleman cleared his throat to speak again but was interrupted by the parlor door opening again. "Last I saw her, she was… right here! Miss Beth, your gent is here to see you. And sir, Lady Winters begs me to inform you that she is not seeing visitors this afternoon but you may return tomorrow."

"Thank you, young man, but I believe I already found the person I sought." Elizabeth could tell from the sound of his voice that the gentleman had turned to face the door, although she was still hastily mopping her face. Mr. Darcy was here? What could she say to him now? And how was it that her traitorous heart was beating with pleasure even knowing that she must send him away?

The door swung wider, and she heard confident footsteps stride in then falter and stop altogether. "Fitzwilliam?" Mr. Darcy sounded so confused, so surprised and uncertain.

"You traveled quickly, Cousin," Mr. Fitzwilliam said, attempting nonchalance but not quite managing to hide the guilty undertone. "I hope you left our aunt in a cheerful disposition?"

Mr. Darcy ignored his cousin entirely. "Elizabeth? Elizabeth."

"Michael," Elizabeth said over her shoulder in a good approximation of a normal voice, "leave us please."

"Very good, Miss Beth."

She listened for the sound of the door closing and then turned to face Mr. Darcy, although she couldn't manage to raise her eyes above his riding boots. They were dirty enough that she suspected he hadn't even stopped to change at the inn. "Good day, sir."

It was less than a second before Mr. Darcy dragged himself out of his stupor and marched forward, grasping Elizabeth's hands and raising them to his lips. Caught by surprise, her eyes followed her hands up, and Mr. Darcy captured her gaze before she could drop it back to his chest.

"You have been crying," he said, his voice low and strained. "Was it my cousin? Did he…?"

She shook her head emphatically, not wanting to speak and betray herself. It was a useless effort.

Mr. Darcy turned to his cousin, keeping a firm grip on Elizabeth's hands. "Imagine my surprise when I arrived at the inn only to notice Brutus in the stables. You had better have a very, _very_ good reason to be here, Richard, interfering in my private affairs and disturbing this young lady."

"I was worried about you, Darce. I thought you might be caught up in some kind of entanglement, and as your cousin and your friend, I decided that I needed more information."

"And what did you discover?" His voice was smooth and a little dangerous, but his fingers around hers were gentle and strong.

Mr. Fitzwilliam cleared his throat, obviously aware of the threat under his cousin's calm words but not cowed by it. "Well, Darcy, you cannot say I haven't a reason to be concerned. You are keeping a mistress! You have always sworn you despised the practice, yet here you are, the world's greatest hypocrite! And add to that your perfectly disgraceful implication to her that your intentions toward her are honorable! A true gentleman would never mislead the poor girl that way, especially when she carries his whelp."

Elizabeth felt the tensing of his body that indicated Mr. Darcy was preparing to turn, and she saw the flashing of fire in his eyes that would mean no good thing. Before he could spin, she crushed his fingers where they wrapped inside hers, using all her strength.

Of course, her tiny hands could do no damage at all to his, but it was enough to surprise him and draw his attention. He met her gaze, and she kept it, frowning at him disapprovingly until she saw his ire subside. He visibly reasserted control, taming his anger, nodding at her once, and only then turning his body to face his cousin, dropping her hands only as he put out his arm and tucked hers on top.

Mr. Fitzwilliam was watching them with undisguised surprise, although Elizabeth could not tell what had shocked him so deeply.

"I am not sorry to have kept this secret, Richard, for it was necessary, but I am sorry that it has caused you to doubt my sanity and judgment. Let me say this now, and in doing so, I expect you to accept my words. Elizabeth is not my mistress, although the child she carries is mine without doubt. We find ourselves in this despicable situation through a series of unfortunate circumstances, and although I refuse to explain it to you entirely, I expect you to trust me when I say that Elizabeth is a virtuous woman, more precious to me than any other could be. I have no other aim in coming to her here than to court her and convince her to marry me."

The colonel grew red-faced. "You cannot be serious, man! I know not what mysterious circumstances you reference, but I know that a man marrying a woman who blatantly, publically carries his child before their marriage will be a source of unending gossip and derision amongst our set. Are you truly willing to risk the well-being of Georgiana, of everyone else you love for the sake of this strange, inexplicable love affair?"

"No one else is at risk!" Mr. Darcy insisted, straightening to an even greater height than before. "'Tis only my own reputation with which I gamble!"

"You delude yourself! You risk the good names of our entire family, William, most especially Georgie! What gentleman will marry the sister of a man who married his mistress?"

"Richard, you grievously exaggerate the possible reaction…"

"No, he is right." Both men stopped and stared at Elizabeth, and it took all her courage not to cringe away from them. As it was, she disengaged from Mr. Darcy's hold and stepped back, standing as tall as she could manage. "Your cousin is correct. I'm sorry, sir, but in the grip of our own concerns, we have turned a blind eye to the real consequences of any connection between us. Your sister and all of mine will be ruined by our ignominious union, and I know that we both of us care too deeply for them to risk such an outcome."

"Elizabeth," Mr. Darcy said, moving toward her with barely-suppressed panic, "you must not listen to the fatalistic predictions of this fool!"

"I beg your pardon!" the Colonel blustered.

"This _fool_," Elizabeth emphasized, "is more clear-headed regarding our situation than either of us has been up until now."

"But he does not know the whole of it."

"What about the full truth would change an earnest assessment of our circumstance?"

"I love you! It is at least partly my fault that we have found ourselves at this impasse! Why should you suffer so, why should you raise a child alone, cut off from your family and friends forever, because of what should have been a harmless mistake? Does that not have some influence on our decisions?"

"Nowhere in the Book of Life does it say that we are guaranteed everything we want!" Elizabeth cried out, feeling the words rip from her as if she had thrown her heart onto the floor before them. "We can only hope that if we do our best with what comes to us we will someday find happiness! If we continue to fight for what we want regardless of the cost to others, then how could we ever find true satisfaction and joy while they suffer because of us?"

Mr. Darcy moved forward and gripped her shoulders, his eyes burning with intensity and fear. "How could I ever find joy again knowing you were alone in the world because of me?"

"There is a satisfaction that comes from doing what is right," she answered, barely noticing the tears streaming down her face.

"There is no joy for me without _you_, Elizabeth."

His words penetrated the cloud of righteous anger and unhappiness surrounding her and instantly sapped her strength. She swayed forward and landed hard against his chest, his arms wrapping around her and bracing her. She had no energy to sob, left only with an unstoppable flow of tears and shuddering, wounded breaths.

"Curse you, Richard," Mr. Darcy spat, his voice shaky. "Curse you."

Elizabeth dispassionately noted the depth of emotion in Mr. Fitzwilliam's reply. "Will, I… I never meant to… I am sorry, old man."

Some amount of time passed, although Elizabeth couldn't tell how much, before she found herself both willing and able to stand upright again and move back, cleaning her face with yet another handkerchief, this time Mr. Darcy's.

"I think you should go," she said quietly, once again unable to meet his eyes.

He began to protest, but after a heartbeat of silence, he said, "Very well. We'll leave. But only if you promise I may return tomorrow, Elizabeth."

"Why?" she asked listlessly. "What can possibly be gained?"

"Please, my love. Give me time to think and take it yourself. Take time to weigh the truths we face, the truth of my love and the truth of the challenges we face. Please. I am not ready to give up."

She knew she should refuse, should send him away so that yet another heartbreak might begin healing, but she didn't have the strength. "Oh, very well. But sir, I beg you, only once more. I cannot take more of this. My heart… I cannot."

She was surprised by the sensation of a kiss on her forehead. "Until tomorrow, my darling."

He swept away, dragging his cousin behind him, who barely managed to grasp the hat and walking stick on his way past. "Good day, Miss Franklin! I am ever so…"

The door slammed, followed soon by the slamming of the front door and the sound of two sets of feet crunching on the drive. Elizabeth collapsed back onto the settee, her mind sluggish and unhappy.

It wasn't long before the emotions of the morning and the weight of her burden became too much. She fell asleep on the settee, her face turned toward the window and her hand wrapped around the sodden handkerchief marked, "F. G. D."


	4. Chapter 4

_I am not Jane Austen—heck, I've never even met her—but I'm having a wonderful time playing with the people she imagined. Thank you for all your reviews and encouragement. _

_Havenswood_, Chapter Four

"Stop wringing your hands, dear," Suzanna said with some amusement, raising her voice a little over the din of chattering voices and banging pots. "A lady never betrays her agitation."

Elizabeth faced her sharply, forcing her hands to relax in her lap. "I am not agitated."

Suzanna chuckled quietly. "Of course not, dear. But just in case you _were_, I thought it was a useful piece of advice."

Elizabeth offered Suzanna a wry smile, reaching out for her teacup. She ran her other hand over the rough-hewn edge of the kitchen table, surprised at how the wear of years had smoothed and shined even the most jagged sections. "How then is a lady expected to ease her agitation if she is allowed no physical outlet?"

"What did your mother teach you about such things?"

Elizabeth sniffed delicately and stared into her cup. "Mama did not… that is to say, she was not perhaps the best example of ladylike behavior. She always errs on the side of over-expressing her emotions."

"And yet you turned out so well? Besides the hand-wringing, obviously."

"I had other models, I suppose, my aunt in particular. I was aware from a very early age of Papa's disdain for Mama's histrionics, and his opinion was always the one that mattered most. If he disapproved of something she did, I did not allow it in myself."

Suzanna watched Elizabeth thoughtfully for a few moments before saying, "Your father is very important to you, isn't he?"

Elizabeth nodded but couldn't speak. Her emotions had been entirely out of control since the gentlemen had left yesterday afternoon, and apparently the tea and quiet conversation with Suzanna, which usually helped her feel so much more in control, was not having a profound enough effect.

"Your hands, Beth."

Elizabeth jerked her hands apart, staring at them in annoyance. Her expression made Suzanna laugh heartily, and after a moment, she laughed as well.

"Oh, Suzanna, I don't know what to do. I feel so certain of my choice when I think of my sisters, of having to live with being the cause of their ruination, but when I picture a future in a series of rented rooms with only myself and my child, I feel overwhelmingly lonely now. It used to be a hopeful imagining but now…"

"But now you know something better is possible. I still think, my dear, that you are more concerned than you ought to be regarding the societal impact of your marriage. Yes, there will be those who will whisper about you, and of course his relations won't rejoice at the connection, but even I know that your Mr. Darcy has impressive influence in London society, and I believe you underestimate his ability to smooth your path."

Elizabeth sighed. "What if you are wrong? What if he is wrong? Is my personal happiness worth risking the happiness of all those I love?"

"There are no guarantees in life, Beth. All you can do is your best. Follow your heart."

"I have always disliked that particular platitude. How can my heart lead when it doesn't know which way to go?"

Suzanna reached across the table to take her hand. "Give it time. You still needn't make a decision today. You have some weeks yet."

"But the longer I wait, the more it will hurt."

Suzanna patted the back of her hand sympathetically but didn't answer. She filled Elizabeth's cup again, but before Elizabeth could raise it, Michael appeared in the kitchen doorway looking serious. "Miss Beth, those gentlemen have returned. Do you wish to see them?"

Elizabeth remained very still, feeling the blood drain from her cheeks. "Both of them?"

"Yes. I can send them away if you wish. You were so upset yesterday…"

She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to gather herself, and stood slowly. "No, Michael, it's all right. I am coming presently."

He seemed doubtful, but at a look from Suzanna, he straightened, bowed, and left.

Elizabeth turned to her friend. "Please, Suzanna, will you come with me? I could face Mr. Darcy alone, I think, but if his cousin is here…"

"Very well. But don't look to me for advice, only for support."

"Of course. Thank you so much."

A short walk later, Michael introduced them into the parlor, and despite the sick feeling inside her, Suzanna's presence helped enough that Elizabeth was able to walk into the room with her back straight and her eyes forward.

Mr. Fitzwilliam was nearest the door, this time without hat, greatcoat, or walking stick, in a most humble stance. Mr. Darcy stood across the room, having just looked up from the window. He moved forward and bowed elegantly, although his eyes never left Elizabeth's through his movement.

"Good morning, gentlemen," Suzanna said regally, nodding to them as she moved fully into the room. "I believe I should like to be introduced, Beth."

"Of course. Lady Suzanna Winters, may I present Mr. Darcy of Pemberley, Derbyshire."

"It is a pleasure to meet you formally, sir," she said, allowing him to take her hand.

"And you as well, madam," he answered politely. Elizabeth could tell that he was a little uncomfortable because his manner was far more similar to his behavior in Hertfordshire, and it surprised her to see the shift. "Elizabeth has been nothing but complimentary in her references to you and your home. Allow me to present my cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam. His father is my uncle, the Earl of Matlock."

"I am acquainted with Lady Fitzwilliam, I believe," Suzanna said, slightly surprised. "We were school fellows, although it has been many years since I saw her last. She is a fine woman."

"Indeed, Lady Winters," the colonel said, looking relieved by her words. "I am pleased to have some references, however distant. I fear that I have given Miss Franklin here no reason whatsoever to think well of me."

Suzanna raised her eyebrows slightly but otherwise betrayed no surprise at the colonel's lack of information. Elizabeth glanced at Mr. Darcy, who sent her a significant look that confirmed her assumption: considering his cousin's response yesterday, it would be better for her true identity to remain a secret for now.

Elizabeth looked back at the colonel, who was watching her with a humorous mix of shame and hope. She smiled slightly. "At least you are an honest man, Colonel. And I know you care very deeply for the well-being of your family."

"You are more gracious than I deserve. You may not say it, Miss Franklin, but I can see you are a little afraid of me. I cannot blame you."

He was right, of course. Elizabeth was uncomfortable just being in the room with him, and no amount of rationality was convincing her otherwise.

Mr. Darcy moved forward, right in front of her, and waited until she looked up at him. "I brought him back with me for a purpose, Elizabeth, but if you'd rather he left…"

"No, no. It's all right." She smiled weakly at him. "If nothing else, he can be your counterpoint. You tend to be more persuasive than is probably healthy."

He smiled slightly and raised an eyebrow, distinctly unrepentant, and she laughed, finally losing some of her tension. It was so strange to see the man she had come to know in the past weeks fit so neatly inside the formal Mr.-Darcy-of-Pemberley shell, but it helped her reconcile the two sides of him.

"Be seated, gentlemen," Suzanna said, motioning toward a grouping of chairs at the side of the room. She sat in a chair next to the settee where Elizabeth settled with Mr. Darcy beside her, and the colonel took the chair across from Suzanna. The lady then gestured imperiously to Mr. Darcy. "You may begin, sir."

He raised his eyebrows, obviously uncomfortable. "Begin, madam?"

"Is your purpose here today not to convince Beth to allow you to continue to court her? I suggest you get started."

He turned to Elizabeth, who felt herself blushing furiously. "Do you feel you need a judge, Elizabeth? Or an advocate?"

"Suzanna is here to support me. You can be quite overwhelming."

He rolled his eyes, a comical expression on such a normally fastidious man, then drew in a deep breath. "I actually thought we could begin by hearing your concerns. Tell me your fears, the consequences of our marrying that seem so disastrous, and I will attempt to allay them one by one."

"That… seems fair enough," Elizabeth said, trying to build a list in her thoughts. "I am uncertain where to start."

"Perhaps with the concern you mentioned yesterday," the colonel suggested meekly. "The ruination of your sisters."

The sick feeling rose up again within her, and she swallowed thickly. "Very well. My first concern, sir, is that if we marry, our marriage will bring about so much gossip that it will make it nearly impossible for my sisters to contract worthy alliances. A man marrying his mistress can be disastrous, especially when the woman is poor and relatively friendless."

"You are not my mistress, Elizabeth."

"You and I know that, sir, but we cannot exactly defend ourselves against that accusation from others. For all intents and purposes, society will view me as your mistress."

He gave her a surprisingly satisfied expression. "Unfortunately, you are correct, at least assuming our circumstances are made public, but I believe that we must recognize the blessing that comes from your family being rather unknown. It is not as if I will be wedding a woman who is a well-known courtesan, an actress, or even my mistress of long-standing. There will of course be rumors because our marriage will not be published until after the birth of our child, but I believe that after some weeks, the public's general lack of knowledge of you will allow the gossip to die."

"Gossip rarely dies as quick a death as we might wish, sir," Elizabeth argued, unconvinced.

"I suppose, but I believe that your wit and vivacity, your intelligent charm, will go much farther toward winning over the doubters than you might suppose. They will be haughty and suspicious at first, but as they watch you skillfully flay any critical opponent with your wit, they will realize that they would rather have you as a friend."

"Do you truly consider me so skilled? I have little to no experience in high society, sir."

"If I have learned nothing else from my time at Pemberley and in Hertfordshire, I do know now that smaller communities are simply smaller versions of Town. Gossiping matrons, waspish spinsters, vapid debutantes and overzealous gold-diggers are the same in any assembly room. You may be surprised by the scale of the forums but not by the content of the conversation, and I have seen you parry enough insults from the likes of Miss Bingley that I have no fear regarding your ability to survive Almack's. You will impress them all, or frighten them, and either way, it will accomplish what we wish."

Elizabeth tried to argue through her slight embarrassment, unsure whether to be horrified or complimented by his opinion of her, but he continued speaking. "And I am certain that any slight blame permanently attached to your sisters because of our conduct would be… significantly alleviated by their dowries."

Elizabeth choked on a bitter laugh. "Have you forgotten my family's circumstances, sir? My four sisters will inherit their equal share of my mother's _four-thousand pounds_, and that only upon her death. That is practically nothing."

"That was true in the past, my love, but assuming I can convince you, then on the day of our marriage, they will have an additional expectation of five-thousand pounds each upon their marriages."

She gaped at him, and she heard Suzanna release a satisfied little chuckle.

"That's twenty-thousand pounds, Darcy," Colonel Fitzwilliam said, casting a doubtful look at his cousin. "When you mentioned bestowing a small dowry on them, I wasn't imagining quite such an amount."

"'Tis only fair to them, and as their brother, I would have every right to do it."

Elizabeth felt a not-unpleasant twist in her middle at his expression of such a sentiment—he really would be their brother, and the idea of him willingly taking an interest in their well-being, in them having such a protector, was one that quite delighted her. She tried, however, to remain objective. "But sir, that is an immense sum, and even were it possible to bestow such an amount on them, my father would not be inclined to accept."

"You have described your father as a fair-minded man, Elizabeth. Do you not think he would see the justice of my doing my part in overcoming the consequences of my own actions?"

She thought hard, trying to think of another argument, but she came up empty. "Perhaps. At least, I hope he would allow it." She turned to face him fully. "But my conscience will not allow me to accept if the amount was in any way detrimental to your estate, and I cannot imagine how it could not be."

He smiled, a smugness present that she found simultaneously irritating and attractive. "Ironically enough, my darling, my concerns regarding your well-being in the past several months have translated into a much more focused and adventurous version of my usual financial management. My energetic desire to search for you coupled with my complete inability to do so led to my making several large investments in somewhat risky ventures—for what good would all my money do me anyway if I could never find you?—which have paid off surprisingly. I can, at present, not only guarantee payment on your sisters' behalves, but I can also declare my intention to settle an appropriate amount upon you when we marry."

Elizabeth stiffened. "How much do you consider 'appropriate?'"

He evaluated her expression closely before saying very seriously, "I think I would rather not say at present."

"But…"

"Do not ask, Beth," Suzanna advised, smiling slightly. "If you are going to be horrified by a large amount, do not ask."

Elizabeth sighed, swallowing the words. "Very well. I will… try not to think about it."

Darcy looked both pleased and uncertain as he reached for her hand and raised it to his lips. "Then may we agree that we have put to rest the concerns regarding your sisters' futures?"

She nodded slowly, finally allowing herself a small smile. "Yes, sir. And thank you for your consideration of them."

"They are your sisters, and I know how much you love them. If all things work to my benefit, they shall be my sisters, and I want them to be happy."

She squeezed his hand gratefully. He gazed at her intently, and she was suddenly overwhelmed with how much she had missed his presence during the previous weeks. Such feelings had been obscured by her embarrassment and misery after his cousin's appearance yesterday, but they came upon her again quite suddenly, and she felt acutely how close she was to losing her heart to this generous, thoughtful man.

The colonel cleared his throat, making Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy aware that they had been gazing for rather longer than they had realized, and Elizabeth tried to ignore the heat rushing into her face as she released Mr. Darcy's hand and straightened.

"Shall we move on then?" Suzanna asked helpfully, clearly hiding her amusement, "You spoke to me, Beth, about your fears regarding the well-being of your child."

"Yes, of course," Elizabeth said, trying not to be too obviously relieved by Suzanna's assistance. "I am sensitive enough regarding my own reputation and good name in society, sir, but I would wish for some reassurances that our child would not carry any taint because of me."

"Again, dearest, there might be whisperings, and by the time our children were old enough to understand, it would be our duty to explain to them some truths regarding their oldest brother or sister's origin that they might combat such rumors with equanimity, but I think you would be quite surprised to know how many of Society's most influential members have a somewhat colorful history. Assuming that our children will be intelligent, cautious, and well-educated, they will be perfectly respectable."

"But what if something happens and our child is born before we are able to wed?" Elizabeth asked, her stomach twisting yet again.

Mr. Darcy grasped her hand again comfortingly. "We will do everything we can to prevent that from happening. As you know, I purchased a Special License while in London. I will leave it here with you, that it might always be available should we need it quickly. You've written to me of Mr. Pippins, your parson—he is always nearby?"

"He never travels," Suzanna assured him. "Gout."

"A pity for him but helpful for us."

"I am grateful for your precautions," Elizabeth insisted, "but birthing is unpredictable. It would not be impossible for the child to arrive before my birthday. What then? What will happen if we cannot marry?"

"Why not ask your father for permission to marry before then?" Colonel Fitzwilliam asked. "Surely he would not deny you an opportunity to legitimize your connection to a man such as Darcy."

The gut-twisting that had plagued her all morning suddenly threatened to overwhelm her. She shook her head silently, unable to speak.

"Beth…" Suzanna began slowly.

"Elizabeth has declared it to be impossible to ask his permission," Mr. Darcy said. His voice was quiet but brooked no opposition. "Therefore, we shall not consider it."

She smiled at him, both sheepish and grateful.

He continued. "If our child is born before we are able to marry, then we will weather the consequences together. The child may be a girl, and if so, no one will ever need to know she is not legitimate. I may leave her a sum of money just the same as with any other daughter."

"We would… pretend that she was legitimate?" she asked, surprised. "I was under the impression that you disliked pretense, sir."

"I do, and I would rather not have to attempt it, but it would be a very simple and victimless evasion. If we admitted that she was born before our marriage, she never would be able to enter society."

"Sons born on the 'wrong side of the blanket' can still move in society," Suzanna suggested.

"But not with any degree of true respectability," Fitzwilliam scoffed.

"A son born before we were able to wed might still find a place on society's fringes, but he would never inherit," Elizabeth said, sadness making it hard to keep her posture from slumping into the back of the settee. "He would always know that he was denied what was rightfully his. It would be heartbreaking."

"We would raise him with love, make no distinction between him and any other children, Elizabeth," Mr. Darcy argued nervously, chaffing her thumb with his. "And when he was old enough, we would tell him the truth of his inheritance. I would leave him plenty of money, enough to purchase his own estate should he choose to do so."

"You would raise him as a Darcy, with all the pride and influence that naturally accompany a name such as yours, and then deprive him of his right to inherit Pemberley?" Elizabeth asked, her voice quiet but sharp and flinty. "How would he ever forgive us?"

Mr. Darcy looked pained but was unable to build a sufficient response.

"Elizabeth, you have a legitimate concern," Suzanna advised gently, "but you are borrowing trouble, my dear. There is a very good chance that your child will be born well after your marriage. You will do all you can to prevent illegitimacy, and I suggest that you make your decisions based on the assumption that you succeed. There is no reason to believe you won't."

Elizabeth closed her eyes and covered them with her free hand. She thought for several moments, the others waiting silently, then looked back up at them with a slight grimace. "I am not perfectly satisfied on this point, but Suzanna is correct, and assuming that we would be able to marry before the birth, I acknowledge that our child will be in far better circumstances than if I were to raise him or her on my own."

"I'm sure such an attempt would not be necessary," Colonel Fitzwilliam said, his eyes wide. "Although I recognize now that your circumstances are significantly different from those I assumed yesterday, I am still certain Darcy will provide for the child." He looked to Darcy casually for affirmation but was caught by the displeased frown on his face. "Won't you?"

"Elizabeth won't allow it," he said, his expression as blank as it had been the first day he'd arrived at Havenswood. At least now Elizabeth could recognize it as stemming from pain rather than disapproval.

The colonel turned on her, shocked and horrified. "You would rather raise a child in penniless obscurity than accept help from the father? And here I was under the impression that you were a rather sensible young lady."

"Fitzwilliam," Mr. Darcy rebuked curtly. "Whether or not Elizabeth's decisions make sense to you is hardly at issue here, and she has no need to explain herself. I asked you here as a voice of reason to help remind us of the opinions of the world outside of this corner of Surrey, not as a judge of things wholly unrelated to yourself."

Colonel Fitzwilliam looked unimpressed, and Elizabeth thought he would continue the argument, but after a long look at his cousin, he frowned and nodded, waving them on.

"Have you any other concerns?" Mr. Darcy asked gently, trying to make up for his cousin.

"I…" She thought hard for several moments. "I am worried regarding the reaction of my family to my circumstances, but since a wedding would assuage the concern of most of them, I must consider that in your favor as well. I suppose then that my last, although not least, concern is for your sister. Miss Darcy has a large fortune and good connections, I am certain, but would her brother's marrying his mistress not have a significant impact upon her prospects? You have already described her as a shy girl, inclined to think less of herself than others. Would not our marriage make her introduction into society even more difficult for her?"

Colonel Fitzwilliam made an inarticulate sound of satisfaction.

Mr. Darcy shifted uncomfortably and stood suddenly, pacing to the window then returning. "Georgiana is, I will admit, quite reserved and uncertain in society. I… I cannot say that I would guarantee her chances of a good match would not be effected by our union, but there are good men out there, men who will judge her on her own merits, and perhaps having a slightly tarnished value will even weed out those who would seek her for mere gain."

"Darcy," the colonel barked, surprising them all, "I have seen the sense of all your other arguments, but this one is ridiculous. I can see that you know that your connection to Georgiana, regardless of its effect on any others, will be to her detriment in the marriage market. The wisest men will steer clear of her, never getting a chance to see her sweetness, and the only ones who will be willing to risk her will be those who need the money more than they need the connections, dissipated young lords who need to pay off debts or new-moneyed upstarts who believe more capital will breed greater influence. You cannot leave her to their clutches."

Mr. Darcy sat back down, seeming to sag into the back of the settee. "I cannot believe that there couldn't be a good man who would be willing to take her on."

"Willing to take her on? This is your sister we are discussing!" The colonel was sitting forward now, and his strong face had grown rather red. "She is too precious to be 'taken on' by anyone! She deserves better! She deserves to be loved by a man who is worthy of her!"

"I know it!" Mr. Darcy cried, rubbing his face hard with his hands. "But does not Elizabeth deserve the same? Which one's happiness shall we sacrifice for the sake of the other's?"

Elizabeth barely looked at Mr. Darcy when he spoke—her eyes were fixed on Colonel Fitzwilliam's face. "What if," she said slowly, "there was another option?"

"Like what?" both men asked. Elizabeth glanced at Suzanna who had apparently noticed the same thing Elizabeth had, for she nodded once with a sly smile.

"What if Miss Darcy's introduction into society was only a formality? What if she was already as good as engaged to someone, a man with good connections and position?"

"Are you suggesting that we go on a hunt for a husband for her before she is formally out?" Mr. Darcy asked, his eyes wide and panicked. "Even were I to agree to such a scheme, she is too young for us to be considering all this. I would never force her into a union with any man, not unless it couldn't be helped!"

The colonel made an irritated sound. "She is not so young as you persist in believing, Darcy. There will only be one more Season before she is eighteen and presented at Court."

"She told me that she does not wish to be presented so soon but would prefer to wait, and I concur."

"This may surprise you, considering the limited attention you have bestowed upon her in recent months, but her opinion regarding her coming out has shifted somewhat."

"I have been perpetually with her in London, with the exception only of the past month. You must be mistaken. I have noticed no great change in her."

Mr. Darcy was trying very diligently to hide his discomfort regarding the topic, but Elizabeth was both amused and impressed by the intensity of his attachment to his sister and his resistance to the idea of her growing up. He truly was more a father to her than a brother, and he was reacting exactly as most fathers would to the suggestion of their daughters hunting a husband.

Elizabeth quickly cut off that thought, unwilling to consider her own father's feelings regarding her growing up.

"And yet she is different, Darcy," the colonel argued. "She has spent much time visiting my family during these past months while you've been so preoccupied. I believe my mother's confidence and courage have begun to reawaken her vitality and interest in the world. Georgie was quite frustrated, although she tried valiantly not to show it, by her inability to attend the last ball before I left for Kent. She is showing interest in everything again, as she used to do."

Again? The colonel's words implied some interruption to Miss Darcy's life that left Elizabeth quite curious, a feeling multiplied greatly by Mr. Darcy's obvious reluctance to believe his sister might be behaving like most young ladies of her age and situation. But what had happened? And had she the courage to ask him?

She turned her thoughts back to the conversation at hand. She had to play it exactly right. "Are there any particular young men in whom she is interested, Colonel? A young lady of her age often discovers tender feelings for some one or another, however short their attachments might be."

Mr. Darcy said quickly, "Elizabeth, I am certain Georgiana is far too sensible to allow herself such silliness," but his response was rather irrelevant when Elizabeth saw the colonel look down at the ground and bite his lip as he tried not to blush.

"Really?" she asked.

"I believe Darcy is right," the colonel said, trying to sound confident and unconcerned. "Georgie's life has matured her somewhat beyond the fickle silliness of typical young ladies. She is far too familiar with heartbreak to be so foolish. I believe that in giving her heart to a man, Georgie will do so as a woman, not as a girl."

Mr. Darcy turned to stare at his cousin, unable to speak for the horror he was obviously experiencing.

"And has she given her heart already, sir?" Elizabeth asked gently.

The colonel returned her gaze earnestly but didn't answer for several seconds. Elizabeth left their eyes connected, and she saw the moment he softened and decided to be open with her. "I believe she has, yes."

"What?" Mr. Darcy roared. "She is only sixteen! What business has she falling in love just now? And who is the blackguard who has convinced her to be so unwise? I must have his name, Richard!"

Colonel Fitzwilliam didn't even flinch under his cousin's onslaught. He continued looking at Elizabeth, who hoped he could see her warmth and sympathy.

"I believe, sir," Elizabeth said, finally looking up at a red-faced Mr. Darcy, "that he might tell us if only you would sit down and remain calm."

"Calm? It is perhaps easy to speak of calm, but this is my baby sister we are discussing, and…"

"She is almost seventeen," the colonel said mildly, "the same age your mother was when she married your father."

"Seventeen is still too young, far too young considering the experiences in her past that have caused her so much heartache."

Elizabeth reached out for Mr. Darcy's hand and tugged him back to sit beside her. He continued muttering imprecations as he sat, and she could see that no matter what else was said, he would only hear the pieces he wished to hear.

She leaned toward him, wrapped both of her hands around his tightly, and pressed her lips against his cheek.

His words cut off, and as she backed away, his head swiveled toward hers, seeking her eyes. She gazed back tenderly. "It is hard for you to think of your sister as a young woman, but that does not change the reality. Stop being afraid for her and start listening. I believe your cousin has something important to tell you, something that might be the answer to your worries and mine, something that will make her immensely happy."

Mr. Darcy listened to her words raptly, and when she stopped speaking, he closed his eyes for a moment, as if to gather himself, and drew in a deep breath. When he opened his eyes, he seemed clearer and calmer. "All right."

They both turned expectantly to the colonel, who was watching them with open admiration.

"Fitzwilliam?" Mr. Darcy prompted.

He shook his head, started to speak, blushed, then began to speak again slowly. "I… that is, Darcy… well, you see, it has been many years since I have been in England for above three months in any given year, and as you well know, only a few weeks of those months have ever been spent much in your and your sister's company. I have always cared for her as my cousin, and the responsibility of being one of her guardians only added to that affection, but I was never truly around enough to think of her as my sister, nor for her to think of me as her brother.

"But ever since I was reassigned to Brigadier-General Brooks and stationed in Town in December, I have spent much of my time with my parents and, by extension, with Georgiana. At first, all I could see in her was the damage wrought by…" he glanced here at Elizabeth and Suzanna, "by her heartbreaks, but under mother's confident handling and my attempts to engage her, she began to bloom again. I began to see that although she can be reserved, her painful, awkward shyness was wearing away, leaving a quiet, steady, graceful, charming woman. She… I didn't realize what had happened at first, but she…"

"She fell in love with you," Elizabeth supplied. Mr. Darcy beside her was perfectly stiff and unmoving, but she squeezed his hand anyway, trying to reassure him.

"Yes," he sighed, trying to appear grave but unable to completely erase the smile from his face. "She was so quiet about it, but I have been around long enough to know the signs of a woman in love, and she is innocent enough still that she doesn't try to hide them. We have not spoken of it—I don't even believe she knows that I know how she feels—but I have no doubts."

"A schoolgirl infatuation," Mr. Darcy said through clenched teeth.

The colonel shifted a little uncomfortably. "I'd like to think not. She doesn't giggle at my presence the way a girl would. She doesn't gaze at me longingly then flounce away in a huff if I dance with another woman. Instead she simply lights up when she notices me in a room. She jumps to my defense when Mother criticizes. She encourages me when I am frustrated, and she knows when to scold me and leave me to my dark moods. She blushes when I kiss her hand, but she does not look away. She is simply the most tender, warm example of female affection that I have ever encountered."

"And you love her in return." Elizabeth didn't have to ask whether her statement was correct.

He sighed again, leaning his forehead against his outstretched fingertips. "I tried not to. For a time I thought I had succeeded. She is young, though not impossibly so, and I knew exactly what _his_ reaction would be," he said, gesturing toward the still-stony Mr. Darcy, "considering that although I am well-connected, my inheritance is only moderate and I am untitled, not to mention that my career can be rather hazardous. I knew I was not an ideal candidate for her hand, and I had determined not to speak of my feelings, even once I realized that they had grown even without my consent. I care for her enough to let her go, if that is what is best for her."

He leaned forward then, his eager eyes on Elizabeth. "But by your reaction, Miss Franklin, are you implying that I would in fact be a reasonable candidate for Georgiana's hand?"

"Of course!" she assured him.

"Of course not!" Mr. Darcy thundered. They all stared at him.

"Why not?" Elizabeth and the colonel said in harmony.

"She is too young to make such a decision."

"She would not have to decide now," Elizabeth argued. "I suspect that the dear colonel will not even speak to her of his feelings until she is a little older, in case she changes her mind."

"Some months at least," he assured them both, "enough time for her heart to change if it is indeed still unsettled."

"But she might feel pressured, being as you are her relation, to accept your suit," Mr. Darcy said gruffly.

"Nonsense," Elizabeth countered. "He would never propose if he was not certain of her affections."

"Obviously," the colonel added.

"Your parents would never approve of her making such a match."

The colonel dismissed his words with a wave of his hand. "Hogwash! Any objections they might have for her sake would be made up for by my marrying well above my prospects and keeping Georgie's money—your mother's money—in the family."

"And her fortune does not present any sort of temptation to you?" Mr. Darcy asked sarcastically.

The colonel leveled a dark glare at his cousin, one that reminded Elizabeth once again that this man was probably a most formidable opponent on the battlefield. "I am going to assume that, suffering under the onslaught of concerns regarding your sister's future and your imminent fatherhood, you are not quite in your right mind. Otherwise, you would, I am certain, know me too well to harbor such a thought for even a moment. I have worked hard, as you well know, to never grow attached to a woman whose prospects could not keep both her and myself in the style to which we are accustomed, for both our sakes, but I have never claimed to love a woman for her money. Georgie's fortune is convenient, but my affection for her is entirely separate from my practicality."

Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam stared at each other for several seconds before Mr. Darcy finally sat back, scrubbing his face with his hand again. "Very well—I do know you, Rich, and I know that if you say you care for Georgie then you really do."

The colonel relaxed. "Thank you."

"You are still too old for her," Darcy added petulantly.

"Ha! Too old! I am only three years older than you, and I would guess that Georgie is only two or three years younger than Miss Franklin here."

"That is six extra years, and years matter."

"Your father was nearly forty when he married your mother, and I know that you have always aspired to have a marriage such as theirs. I am just over thirty, Will, and even if that were old, I would remind you that disparity of age does not mean disparity of temperament or interests."

"And the colonel's extra years should mean that he is neither so young as to undervalue your sister's tender affections nor so inexperienced as to find himself unable to provide for her," Elizabeth reminded him. "Besides, what other man who might compete for Georgiana's hand could you ever know as well as your cousin? You know his faults, yes, but you also know his virtues. Is he a gambler?"

"Not particularly," Mr. Darcy answered grudgingly.

"A spendthrift?"

"Not as far as I am aware."

"A rake, or a frequenter of houses of ill-repute?"

Mr. Darcy raised an eyebrow at his cousin, who released a deeply-offended guffaw and pointed back at him. "That was once, and it was not entirely my fault! You cannot hold such a night against me, not considering that you were there, too, well into your cups, singing at the top of your voice, and only miraculously escaped the clutches of that rouged—"

"Yes, yes!" Mr. Darcy said loudly, blushing deeply and glancing sideways at Elizabeth, who was shocked, and Suzanna, who was terribly amused. "I will admit that you are not given to vices. I know you will be a good husband to the woman who decides she can stand you."

"Even if that woman is your sister?" the colonel asked, his eyes bright.

Mr. Darcy crossed his arms over his chest, and it was all Elizabeth could do not to laugh aloud at the picture he made. She knew that if Lucille could see him now, she would take his likeness in an instant, perhaps emphasizing a pouting lower lip, and entitle it _Always a boy, _or _Do we ever grow up?_

"I suppose," he finally admitted.

The colonel beamed at Elizabeth, who smiled back encouragingly and hugged Mr. Darcy's hand against her chest. Mr. Darcy smiled at her ruefully before turning back to his cousin. "But I would need assurance of her affections, to see it with my own eyes before we could even begin to truly discuss the possibility of your union."

"All in good time," Colonel Fitzwilliam answered jovially. "Is the good hope of Georgie's future enough to settle your concerns regarding her, Miss Franklin?"

"If you are there to care for her, sir, then I have no doubt she can find happiness, if she will grasp it," she assured him.

"That means," Mr. Darcy said, turning to face her with a somewhat mischievous smile, "that we have managed to assuage your most pressing concerns, my love?" He raised her hand to his lips. "Am I free to continue my heady pursuit of your goodwill?"

She laughed, satisfaction, certainty, and something else, something undefined yet immensely powerful, bubbling up from inside her. She felt breathless with hope, full of a vision of future happiness that seemed far too good to be deserved.

"I suppose, sir," she said, containing her joy until it only leaked out into a small, helpless smile. "If you must."

Mr. Darcy laughed, along with the colonel and Suzanna, and Elizabeth marveled at how one of the darkest nights of the last half-year had been followed up by such a glorious morning. They spent a few more comfortable minutes discussing the colonel's assignment, the beauties of Surrey, and Suzanna's memories of the Countess of Matlock at school, before Suzanna rose to her feet and bid farewell to the gentlemen, claiming to have pressing business elsewhere before exiting graciously.

Colonel Fitzwilliam took the hint. "I should be going as well. My stay in Kent has already tried the patience of my commanding officer and my mother (although which of the two's displeasure is more dangerous, I am uncertain) for too long."

"Not to mention a young lady who will be most eager for your return," Elizabeth said warmly.

"I hope so," he said, giving her a charmingly affectionate smile that made him, for just a moment, particularly handsome.

Mr. Darcy muttered something dark under his breath, but his cousin only grinned wider at him.

"I am sorry to say it, Darcy, but I must have you know that I fear you no longer, not as long as I remain in your lady's good graces. You, my dear Miss Franklin, have my cousin wrapped around your little finger rather shockingly. Too see the two of you together, the way you rely on, reassure, and support one another, one would think you had already been married for several years. I insist that you heed his entreaties and marry him as soon as possible, not only for the sake of your child, but because I very much look forward to seeing what sort of man you can make of him in the years to come."

Elizabeth blushed, but she couldn't hold back her smile as he kissed her hand in farewell. "I thank you, Colonel, for your support and assistance. I hope that, whatever the future brings, we may always be friends."

His enthusiasm quieted, and he searched her expression for several seconds before replying, "You will always find a friend in me, Miss Franklin." Then he bowed, turned, and disappeared through the door.

"There have been many times in my life," Mr. Darcy said darkly, "when I have wished I had Fitzwilliam's manner and easiness, but never so much as I have right now. He has, in the course of a single afternoon, overcome the earnest and reasonable objections of his beloved's guardian and earned the steadfast admiration of a woman whose good opinion I value more than any other. If only my problems were so surmountable as his seem to be."

He had moved beside her, and it felt incredibly natural to reach out and take his hands. "You have my good opinion already, sir. I am every day more assured of the worth of your heart, of the value of what you offer me. But I must still ask for time. There is so much to feel, so much to understand within myself, and…"

"Of course," he said soothingly, smiling in reassurance. "Forgive me for my impatience. I am endlessly thankful for your continued forbearance and willingness to work toward overcoming the barriers between us."

"How long will you remain in Surrey? Did you complete all your business in Town?"

"I have done all I can, and now I will remain near you until we remove to Pemberley together, or at least until you send me away hopeless."

That thought tore at her heart, leaving her chest feeling constricted, and it took all her will to maintain her physical ease. To imagine a future alone was one kind of terrible, but to imagine the moment in which she denied his suit and sent him away from Surrey and his child, was an entirely different level of agony.

"Please…" she begged, gulping.

"Forgive me," he said swiftly, reaching one hand up to brush her cheek. "I didn't mean to pain you with my fears."

She leaned into his touch, closing her eyes. "I don't want to hurt you."

He was silent for what felt like a long time before he answered, "I offer myself willingly, Elizabeth, and I will accept whatever choice you make. I even promise to survive it, although at what cost I cannot guarantee."

She opened her eyes, that powerful feeling of warmth and hope that had surged through her rising once again, feeling like a fountain that had burst forth inside her. His face was near, his eyes soft and open, unabashed in their hope and admiration.

She wanted to speak, to provide him reassurance, but his expression stilled her, an effect compounded more by the weight of his gaze and the realization of exactly how close they were standing. His eyes held hers for a long moment, a sweet tension building between them, and the fact that his gaze finally slid away only to focus on her mouth did nothing to release her.

_Kiss me_, she thought, her breath coming faster. _Kiss me._

He slid his fingers down and let them brush over her lips, staring at them intently.

Her mind narrowed to a single point. _ Kiss me_.

He swallowed convulsively.

_Please._

He leaned forward, and she closed her eyes, as taut as a bowstring.

And then he stepped back, releasing his hold on her and standing further away than arm's length. She stared at him in surprise and then looked down and turned away as the humiliation of the moment swept over her. How could she have wanted him to kiss her so much? After all the trouble they'd caused themselves before, after all her commitments to herself and her promises to God, how could she still have wanted to kiss him so much?

And how could he have come so close and then rejected her?

"Elizabeth," he choked. She heard him stride wildly to the other side of the room, and she turned enough to watch his powerful, angry movements.

"I am sorry," she whispered. "I shouldn't have… I don't know why…"

"No!" he cried out, coming toward her again although not moving too close. "There is nothing for which you ought to apologize! I… Elizabeth, I love you so very much, and holding you so close, I lost my head for a moment. I have only ever intended to treat you with the greatest respect, but it is so difficult for me sometimes to treat you with restraint when memories of… of that night flood my mind. I am sorry to put us both into a situation of temptation." His eyes widened as he said the word _both_, realizing suddenly that he had not been the only one effected, and as he finished speaking, he looked at her with something like a plea.

"I cannot condemn you, sir," she said slowly, "for something of which we are both guilty. I know you would never…" She couldn't finish, but they both knew what she meant, and she thought they were probably both wondering exactly how true her statement would have been had she finished it.

At that moment, as if in answer to an unoffered prayer, there was a knock at the door, and Michael entered tentatively. "Forgive me, Miss Beth, but there was an accident in the kitchen, and Miss Cecily… has need of you."

"What has happened?" she asked, her fears for her friend sweeping away the last of her embarrassment. "Is she hurt?"

"She is right enough, Miss, though she took quite a scare. She thinks it may have started her pains."

"Oh!" She turned to Mr. Darcy. "I am supposed to be with her while she is lying in."

"She told me to tell you that she'll be fine for a time, that the pains are very mild and far apart, and you should finish with your _friend_ before coming to her. She asked me to say it just like that, too: your _friend._"

Elizabeth smiled to herself and looked at Darcy, who cocked an eyebrow at her. "Tell her that my _friend_ and I thank her very much and that I will join her soon."

"Very good, Miss. Sir."

He left, and Elizabeth wasn't sure whether to regret their interruption or not.

"Is it a good idea to have you in the room with her?" Darcy asked after a moment. "Won't it frighten you, especially if anything goes wrong?"

"Suzanna says not. She says that I will be afraid at first, but that watching someone firsthand will help teach me all the things I need not fear, all that is normal. Cecily is healthy and strong, all is well with the child, and the birth should be straightforward. Suzanna says that the best part is seeing the look on the mother's face when it is all over and she holds the child in her arms, that such an experience will teach me better than anything how worthwhile all the misery will be."

"And if something goes wrong?"

"That will be up to me. I can stay and help my friend, or I can leave and ask someone to replace me."

"You do not seem the type to leave," Darcy said, offering a small smile.

"I think, perhaps, you are coming to know me very well."

"I will go. This morning has been trying for you, and as little as I know about the process, I am aware that this may be a very long day and night for you. May I return tomorrow?"

"Of course!" she hastened to answer. "I should always be available during my leisure time, around three o'clock. I will send word if something keeps me still with Cecily."

He nodded and took her hand, kissing it gently. She couldn't help but watch his lips regretfully for just a moment, but then she chastised herself roundly and looked away.

"Am I forgiven, my love?" he asked.

"There is nothing to forgive," she assured him. "If there were, I would make sure you knew it."

He smiled fondly. "True enough. Good day."

"Good day, sir."

She moved to the window after he left and watched him stride across the front walk. He looked back toward the house and saw her there. She blushed a little at being caught, but she waved timidly. He grinned back at her, standing a little straighter, and tipped his hat. They both laughed, and he continued on, but she watched until he was out of sight.

She rushed out of the room and up the stairs, but she couldn't help but think of how close he'd come to kissing her, how much she'd wanted it, and how she'd felt as he held her in his arms. She had just reached the top of the staircase and begun to round the corner when she halted, frozen.

She was in love with him! The realization had come upon her so suddenly, and yet it was really just a recognition of what her feelings, that warm, heady rush of hope that had surprised her earlier, really meant. She was in love with him, and she could not doubt her feelings at all.

She sighed and began moving forward again. She was in love, yes, and there was reason to hope that their future would not require the sacrifice of others, but would it be enough? Could it ever be enough?


	5. Chapter 5

_Thanks to everyone who reviewed! I know the Georgiana/Fitzwilliam thing can be a little touchy, but I'm trying to keep my mind in the time period, and such an age gap was not only common but reasonable considering life-expectancies, the dangers of child-bearing, and the time it took for a man to create for himself a decent living situation. And there was no taboo regarding marrying cousins, by the way, no matter how backwoods it seems now. _

_Once again, I am not Ms. Austen, nor shall I ever be. _

_5/14 UPDATE: After changing an essential plot point, I neglected to change the dates. The only changes are references to the day of the week. This chapter occurs on a Friday, and Elizabeth's birthday is Tuesday (specifically August 6__th__, in my personal P&P universe). _

_Havenswood, _Chapter Five

"I have to return to London," Mr. Darcy said sharply as he watched Jeanette, a plain young girl training to be a housemaid, carry the tea tray back through the kitchen door.

They were sitting in the garden again, the white iron table having become their favorite spot now that the heat of high summer had turned the inside of the house into a roasting oven. The area of shade provided by the towering oak tree was small in the afternoon, but it was just enough to keep the table and chairs cooler than anywhere else.

"After all these weeks?" Elizabeth asked, surprised, putting down the sleeve she was hemming. She had taken to bringing her work outside during their visits, trying to continue making a contribution and accustom Mr. Darcy to her daily pursuits. He had not seemed to mind, regularly asking questions about what she was doing and admiring the quickness and neatness of her stitches and constructions. "Why now?"

"I received a letter from my solicitor this morning. He was going over the marriage settlement documents one last time at my request, making certain that it was all in order and ready to file, and he discovered a page we missed before, one that was stuck to the page before it. Unfortunately, it is one I have to sign before a witness and Mr. Tanner himself. I have no choice but to away to London."

Elizabeth wanted to argue. She wanted to beg him not to go, to tell him she was afraid that if he left something might happen to forestall his return. She also wanted to tell him that she had begun having the pains Cecily and a few of the others had described in the days before their time had come, a strange tensing sensation all around her middle that left her back aching even after it was over. The pains were irregular and of short duration, not even a true inconvenience, so she had not mentioned them to anyone, but if he was leaving now… What if he could not return in time?

"Is the document necessary?"

"Vital. Without an official signature, none of the settlement will stand up to scrutiny. We could wait and file it all after the wedding, but it is much more time-consuming and expensive, and it would require an exhaustive investigation into the circumstances of our marriage, something I would much rather avoid at all costs."

"Of course."

She could not tell him now—it would do no good to worry him. And besides, many of the girls said they had started having these strange pains weeks or even months before their delivery. There was really no reason to be concerned.

"I suppose," she said, "that there is no added impetus to return just now, nothing at all having to do with the letter you received from your sister about Colonel Fitzwilliam."

He frowned automatically at the mention of his cousin, but he tried to cover that reaction. "You know that not even my justified concerns regarding the _rate_ at which she is attaching herself to him would take me away from you now."

She smiled teasingly. "Of course not. But it is terribly convenient that you will have an opportunity to check on them."

His answering smile was only slightly mischievous. "Terribly."

"How long will you be gone?"

"Three days at the outside. I will fly to London and return before I am missed. I must be back to celebrate your birthday on Tuesday, obviously."

"I cannot believe," she said, "that six weeks have passed so quickly."

"They have been a blink of an eye and yet lasted an eternity for me," he said, winking at her roguishly. "As I told you, I am not a patient man."

"I do not believe you at all," she laughed. "You have been a pillar of endurance, truly. I could not have asked for more kind, patient solicitude."

"Well, just because I have behaved myself for the last few weeks has not meant that I wished to do so," he muttered, rolling his eyes at himself.

She reached across the table and took his hand, a gesture that had become familiar and comforting to both of them over the past weeks. "Need I say again, sir, that you are the best of men? Why must I keep repeating myself?"

He chuckled and squeezed her fingers. "Those are words I must keep hearing, dearest, for the things I know of myself constantly teach me not to believe them."

They heard the chiming of the grandfather clock through the open window, and Darcy looked down superfluously at his own pocket watch. He sighed and stood, waving her back down when she moved as if to rise as well. "The time has come for me to go, I know, but you needn't stand. Even if you will not admit it, I can tell how hard it has become for you. Would you like me to help you inside?"

"No. They have begun bringing most of my work out here to me since I nearly melt inside the kitchen these days. Joanna will come when it is time."

"Very well. I shall leave for London tomorrow at first light, and I shall return as soon as possible. I… I will miss you, my darling."

"And I you." She said it this time with confidence, and neither of them doubted its truth.

He kissed her hand, his mouth lingering, then straightened and prepared to leave. He began to walk away.

"Mr. Darcy!" Elizabeth called after him.

He turned back. "Yes?"

"You did not ask me, sir, how I plan to celebrate my birthday."

His eyes widened. "Of course! Are they having a party for you? What does the manor do on birthdays? And—oh! I shall find you a gift in London, something you'll adore, I promise."

"I will never complain about gifts," she said, smiling coyly, "but yes, they are planning on having a party for me. That is, they will as long as you plan to attend."

He frowned, confused. "Of course, I will be wherever you wish me to be."

"I am so glad," she said. "It would be strange to celebrate a wedding without the groom in attendance."

There was silence in the courtyard, as if even the bees and sparrows had sucked in a breath with Darcy. After an eternal few moments of watching him stand as still as the statue of cupid on the fountain nearby, Elizabeth had to release her breath and draw in another one in order to prevent herself from fainting.

Finally, Darcy managed to open his mouth, although he still seemed to be made of marble. "A… wedding?"

"If you will still have me, sir."

"On your birthday?"

"Why wait?" she asked, blushing deeply.

Truly, she did not wish to wait another moment. These past weeks, Darcy's daily visits had become the air she breathed. She had not had the courage to tell him how she felt or speak much of the future, still so unsure of herself, but the moment she had begun feeling the ghost pains, her mind had flown to how much she needed him with her, how much she wanted him to be part of what was happening to her. She would deal with the consequences, no matter what they were, for they would be worth the happiness she knew she would find with him.

In less than a second, he flew across the lawn and knelt before her, grasping her hands in his. "You mean it? You are accepting me?"

"What else can I do?" she asked. "I have fallen in love with you."

He closed his eyes, and after a moment, he threw his hat on the table and laid his head in her lap. She released her hands from his grasp and raised his face up, cupping his jaw.

"I am sorry I did not tell you sooner," she said, brushing a stray curl off his forehead. "I did not realize I had made the decision until a few days ago, and then I was unsure how to tell you. You have been so good these last weeks, not even bringing it up, that I did not know how to begin the conversation."

"And you do not feel marrying on your birthday would be rushing? Of course, I am delighted, but I do not want you ever to look back and feel hurried."

"If I feel rushed at all, it is only my own impatience. If anything, it feels late! I want to marry you, _William_, and I want to do it as soon as possible. That means Tuesday, as long as you are back."

"I shall be, come hell or high water," he promised, kissing her hands again, his face glowing with joy. "You have made me the happiest of men, my darling."

"This will not be easy," she warned him. "Starting a marriage the same time we begin being parents will be fraught with difficulty. Already we have spent weeks arguing over the necessity of a nursemaid, and that is only the beginning, only the smallest of decisions we shall have to make. Not to mention dealing with our families afterward."

"Of course it will not be easy," he said dismissively. "Nothing worthwhile is. But difficult things do not scare me, Elizabeth."

"Obviously," she teased. "You fell in love with me anyway."

He grinned. "Exactly."

They laughed together, and then each grew serious, their eyes wandering over one another with exultant, possessive freedom.

"I do not deserve such happiness," Darcy finally said, "but I shall not return it."

"Nor I. We will steal it however we must. So go now, sir, that you may return in good time. A groom must not be late for his own wedding."

"Indeed not. I shall be back before you miss me, my love."

"Impossible."

He smiled again, kissed her hands, and made to stand, but she reached out and grasped the lapels of his coat, pinning him before her. He just had time to raise his eyebrows in surprise before she pressed her mouth to his.

Their kiss was tentative at first, both foreign and familiar, but it picked up speed quickly, full of first excitement, then affection, and then heat, a warmth that burned far hotter than the afternoon sun.

Elizabeth was breathless by the time they parted, her lips tingling and her head light. Darcy seemed just as affected, pressing his forehead against hers as he blinked his eyes vigorously and cleared his throat.

"How can something as simple as a kiss drive me to my knees?" he murmured.

"You were on your knees before, sir—our kiss only kept you there."

His eyes focused on her, and he gave her an exasperated grin. "Only you would tease me in such a moment."

"I plan to spend your life teasing you, probably in all sorts of inappropriate moments."

"And I will delight in every one of them. I can hardly wait." He kissed her again once then pulled back, straightening to his feet and grimacing at the popping of his knees. Elizabeth laughed at him as he brushed blades of grass from his pants, looking chagrined. "Don't ask—of course it was worth it."

"I never doubted." She grew more serious then. "Good journey, my love."

"Tuesday," he said, reassuring them both as he put his hat back on. "I will see you Tuesday morning, if not Monday evening."

She nodded. They looked at each other longingly, a thousand things passing between them that neither could have spoken aloud, and then he tipped his hat and left.

She stayed in her chair, marveling at the joy that filled her. This was what she wanted—_he_ was what she wanted—and they would be happy, she was determined.

Suddenly she sucked in a breath, groaning quietly at the discomfort of yet another of those deceptive pains. All would be well, she told herself as she pressed her palm against herself in response to the pressure around her stomach. He would return soon, and all would be well.


	6. Chapter 6

_I've had a couple of questions recently that made me realize that not everyone has done the same research I have for this story (you lucky stiffs), which means that not every reader knows the rules regarding births in Regency England. There are numerous sources, but here is the upshot: if a man and woman were married at the time a child was born to that woman, the man was considered the father, and the child had right of inheritance. It did not matter whether they were married at conception (or whether the child had been fathered by another man), they just had to be married by the birth. If the man and woman were not married, there was no way to legitimize the child—there was no adoption in Regency England. The child could be left monies or properties that were incidental to the father's estate, but he or she could not inherit the estate or any of its holdings if the child was illegitimate. _

_Does that clarify things? Any other questions? I thought about having the characters explain all this a few chapters ago, but I hate faux-character-ignorance, and Lizzy, Darcy, Suzanna, Fitzwilliam, and all the rest would already know these things. So, I apologize if I created confusion. _

_I also apologize to Jane Austen, who I am not. Forgive me, madam, for the liberties I take. _

_5/14 UPDATE: Once again, my dates got away from me. I changed only references to the day of the week and the date the letter was written. The primary events of this chapter occur on a Wednesday, not a Saturday. Oh, and I corrected the reference to a "pram"—horribly anachronistic, I know. So sorry. _

_Havenswood, _Chapter Six

For three days, she had managed it. For three days, she had remained cheerful and expectant, pushing aside the worries that threatened to beset her if she thought for too long. She had participated in the preparations for the wedding breakfast as much as her girth allowed, making dozens of her beloved treacle tarts, and she had spent all her free moments completing a few items she had designed herself for her child. She had missed Mr. Darcy… _William_, of course, and she had wondered often where he was and what he was doing at that moment, but even when Monday evening had come, she had not been overly concerned—he had said he might not arrive until late.

But as of Tuesday afternoon, having spent all morning waiting and trying to converse pleasantly with Mr. Pippins and Suzanna while ignoring the concerned looks of her friends, she had given herself leave to worry to her heart's content.

Where was he? Had something happened on the road? Was he lying somewhere hurt or dead? Had he been kept in London by an emergency? What if his sister had become ill? Would she ask him to choose between them? Or what if he had remained by inclination, relieved to be enjoying his last few days of bachelorhood? What if he had changed his mind entirely?

Unfortunately she should have kept pushing the worries away, for the moment she allowed them to overtake her was the moment when the pains had become more insistent and regular. She tried not to show it at first, schooled her face to hide her increasing discomfort. They usually passed after only a few seconds, and she had known she was not quite near her time yet.

That evening, however, once the lights downstairs had been snuffed and she had retired to her room, she had been unable to hide them anymore. The girls with whom she roomed had realized what was happening after her first cry, and they had all gathered around her, two keeping careful count as the midwife had schooled them all and the other holding Elizabeth's hand and allowing her to squeeze as hard as she pleased.

Her pains remained far enough apart that they did not send for the doctor, who lived in the village, or the midwife, who lived in a small cottage only a quarter-of-a-mile deeper onto Suzanna's property. Instead, knowing Elizabeth's situation, they made sure she remained lying in her bed, doing as little to encourage progress as possible. By four o'clock the next morning, even Elizabeth was exhausted enough to begin catching a few stolen moments of sleep between the pains.

By six o'clock, however, despite all their wishes for the pains to slow, they sent for the doctor, who was out attending to a case at a farm several miles away, then for the midwife. As the house began to stir, Suzanna herself noticed the midwife's entrance and came to soothe and comfort Elizabeth.

"Do not worry, dear one," Suzanna said quietly, smoothing her fingers over Elizabeth's moist brow. "In this moment, the most important thing is to get this child out of you. If you take too long, its life will be in jeopardy."

"But Suzanna," Elizabeth gasped, flattening back against the pillows as her pain passed, "William is not here. I have prayed and prayed all night, and he has not come. What if something happened to him? The child will be illegitimate, unable to ever inherit."

"What matters that? Mr. Darcy can settle any amount he likes on the child, short of his entire estate. If the child is a girl, it will not matter at all."

"And if it is a boy?"

"Then he will be raised in love and given a gentleman's education, and when he is old enough, he will be told the truth, and he will forgive you both."

"That is not the future I want for him."

"I know, my dear," Suzanna said, her eyes warm and sad. "But our lives do not always work out as we wish. This future you have before you will never be all you expect it to be. In some ways it will be less, as perhaps in this, but in many ways it will be more. Accept what comes, make the best of it, and always look for the ways the best parts of your future resulted from the most painful moments of your past."

Tears rolled down Elizabeth's cheeks, but they dried as another pain began and her focus turned within her, the physical agony all that really mattered. She tensed her entire body, fighting the pain as it threatened to consume her and filling her mind with pleas to God to keep the child inside her. She knew the wish was unreasonable, and she knew her energy would not last much longer, but she could not accept that all would not be as she had hoped.

"She is almost ready," the midwife said quietly, "although the progress is slow."

"Is the baby turned as it ought to be?"

"Yes, yes, everything is fine. It is only her unwillingness, I think, that holds her back."

"Beth," Suzanna said, her voice firm, "it is time to relax and let this child join us. You must allow your body to do its work. Stop fighting or you may harm both yourself and the baby."

Elizabeth opened her eyes and looked into Suzanna's. "Will everything really be all right?"

"Yes, dear child. The most important thing now is to bring this babe into the world. All other worries will have their own time and place."

At her words, Elizabeth allowed her resistance to be swept away by her exhaustion. Truly, she could not fight anymore. What would happen would happen.

As soon as she stopped resisting the pains, she progressed rapidly, so that by seven o'clock, she was lying back, still and worn, in the birthing chair (a somewhat outdated contrivance, according to the doctor, but a staple of the midwife's manner of business), waiting for the sense of urgency that the midwife had promised, the signal that it was time for her to push.

She would survive this, she knew, and so would the child. But if the baby was a boy, would it not be better for her to remain unwed, to follow her original path? She couldn't stomach the thought of raising a son, rightfully the oldest son of Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley, who would never inherit the home that should belong to him. Yes, she trusted William to care for him, and she knew he would be loved, but being passed over in such an ignominious way would break the pride of any man, particularly a son who would be raised as a Darcy.

In a scathing moment of clarity, she came to a firm decision. If the baby was a boy, she would not marry William. No amount of persuasion or sorrow would change her resolution. She would raise her boy as the son of a modestly-situated seamstress, and he would never know all that he had lost.

And truly, at this moment, the thought of a future without William Darcy in it caused her no pain. Perhaps she had never loved him after all—she had only decided to need him.

That thought had only just flitted through her mind when she heard a commotion in the hallway outside the room. There were several voices speaking, and one voice in particular sounded angry, one very deep, very masculine voice.

Before she had even realized she recognized it, her stomach had swooped low inside her shaking frame and her eyes had swept to the door, tears already stinging in the corners.

"William," she breathed.

"What was that, Beth?" Suzanna asked, leaning closer to hear.

The door burst open, and although Elizabeth was hidden from sight by a screen, she could hear the proceedings well enough. The first inside was a panting Michael, yelling rudely, "No, Miss Sylvie, it cannot wait. Miss Beth will want to see him now!"

Next was Elizabeth's friend Sylvie, who had been sitting outside the door to keep all the curious well-wishers outside. She was bawling Michael out shamelessly, and Elizabeth could hear his shriek when Sylvie yelled that she would drag him back out by the ear, so help her.

Next, her heart squeezing inside her, was William Darcy's voice yelling, "Elizabeth! Where is she? Is she all right?"

_Oh, my_, she thought. _I love him after all. _

His eyes were wild as he lurched around the screen, and he looked more ragged than she had ever seen him, his coat dusty, his boots covered in mud, and his hat missing. "Elizabeth!"

Behind him around the screen stepped her aunt, Mrs. Gardiner.

"Oh, Lizzy!" her aunt cried, rushing toward her before stopping and realizing that now was not a time to hold her.

Elizabeth smiled tiredly at her aunt, tears streaming down her cheeks, but her eyes strayed back desperately to William.

"The fastest carriage ride I've ever endured," muttered a hoarse voice from the doorway. Mr. Pippins did not appear around the screen, but she could see him in her mind, his face as red as a pie cherry and his breath wheezing from him like a bellows.

"Mr. Pippins!" Suzanna cried, moving around the screen out of sight. "How quickly can you read the marriage ceremony?"

"I don't know," he gasped, "but it looks like we're going to find out. Stand beside her back there, Darcy!"

His tone of command clearly took William by surprise, as focused as he was on staring at Elizabeth miserably, but he moved beside her instantly and reached down to take her hand. "My love, I had no idea until we arrived at the inn and found Michael waiting there…"

"No time for that!" Suzanna barked, appearing again. "This ceremony is long, and you need all the time you can get. The child will be arriving at any moment." She turned serious eyes on Elizabeth, then bent down to rearrange her sweaty nightdress so that it covered her legs. She had no energy left to be embarrassed. "Whatever you do, Beth, do not push."

Elizabeth nodded. How she was to even have energy left to push at all, she was not certain.

"Go, Mr. Pippins!"

"Have you the special license, sir?" Mr. Pippins asked.

"Where is it, Elizabeth?"

"In the top drawer of my bureau."

Suzanna rushed and opened the door. "Michael! Go and retrieve the document from the top drawer of Miss Beth's bureau. And hurry!"

"Yes, ma'am!"

"All right," Mr. Pippins began, barely less winded. "'Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God, and in the face of this congregation, to join together this Man and this Woman in holy Matrimony; which is an honourable estate, instituted of God in the time of man's innocency…'

Elizabeth felt someone take her other hand. She looked up, and her tears started again. "Oh, aunt!" she whispered.

Aunt Gardiner knelt next to her and held her tightly around her shoulders, her own tears spilling onto Elizabeth's nightdress. "Oh, Lizzy. I am so glad we arrived in time. It was a rush… that is, things have been so difficult these past days, and… well, I am glad I came."

"I am glad as well," Elizabeth sighed, leaning her head against Mrs. Gardiner's. "This is all so new, still so frightening. I thought I would be alone."

"'Secondly,'" Mr. Pippins was reading, his words sliding so quickly that they almost bled into one another, "'it was ordained for a remedy against sin, and to avoid fornication; that such persons as have not the gift of continency might marry, and keep themselves undefiled members of Christ's body.'"

Elizabeth winced, and she felt William squeeze her hand. Yes, they had sinned, but she felt forgiven now, and she hoped someday he would feel it as well. Mr. Pippins had told her that other priests might feel differently, but that he knew her goodness and he could feel God's love for her. She had felt that love as well, the peace that had come from His forgiveness.

"'Therefore, if any man can show any just cause, why they may not lawfully be joined together, let him now speak, or else hereafter forever hold his peace.'"

The room was silent, everyone holding their breath, but Mr. Pippins waited only a heartbeat before continuing, and the collective rush of air made the curtain on the wall shiver.

Elizabeth tried to focus on his next words, but after so many minutes of rest, the sensation of one of the worst of the pains returned to her, this time accompanied by all her lower muscles contracting, commanding her with an almost irresistible force to bear down and push. She cried out sharply then set her teeth, groaning as she forced her body to stay relaxed.

"What is it, my love?" William asked, bending near her. "The child?"

"The baby is ready," she muttered, still gritting her teeth although the urge had finally passed.

Her reply, though quiet, seemed to spur Mr. Pippins to even greater heights of speed-speech, his words turning into a mush of sounds that felt like they ought to be familiar but weren't. Elizabeth wondered whether that was because she was concentrating so hard on her own body or because he really was speaking so quickly.

The midwife knelt down before her and reached up under her dress, her hands cold against the skin of Elizabeth's belly. "She will not be able to wait long."

Moments that felt like hours passed, and then she heard William say, "I will!" His voice rang loudly through the room, and she knew that in any other moment, she would be filled with a rush of love for him for that certainty.

A few moments later, she heard Mr. Pippins repeat something that sounded like, "'…so long as ye both shall live?'"

She gasped as another pain took her, but pushed out a gravelly, "I… will."

The following few minutes were the most difficult of Elizabeth's life. Aunt Gardiner helped her follow the priest's words for her vow and his directions of when and how to hold William's hand, and she vaguely felt the sensation of something cold slipping over her fourth finger. Then suddenly, William was kneeling beside her, his eyes staying on Elizabeth's face. She tried to give him a reassuring smile, but that only made him frown with more concern.

Finally, Mr. Pippins said in a quick but clear voice, "' Forasmuch as Fitzwilliam Gregory Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet have consented together in holy Wedlock, and have witnessed the same before God and this company, and thereto have given and pledged their troth either to other, and have declared the same by giving and receiving of a Ring, and by joining of hands; I pronounce that they be Man and Wife together, In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.'"

Elizabeth released a sigh of relief just as another urge came to push.

"You must push now, Beth," the midwife said quietly, even as Mr. Pippins' voice continued in the background.

"But she must sign the register first!" Suzanna hissed. Aunt Gardiner stood and ran around the screen, reappearing with a large tome.

Mr. Pippins continued speaking without a pause. "'Blessed are all they that fear the Lord: and walk in his ways...'"

William, still kneeling beside Elizabeth, took the book and opened it on one knee, and Aunt Gardiner helped Elizabeth dip and hold the pen someone had found. It took all of Elizabeth's will simply to command the letters to appear on the page, and the moment the last 't' was scrawled, she bore down with all her might.

"That's it!" the midwife hissed. "Another one."

She heard the scratching of the pen as William signed hurriedly, and then there was a shuffling sound of several feet.

"Thank you, gentlemen. Now get out of here," Suzanna commanded.

Mr. Pippins squeaked and shuffled loudly out the door, but William beside her said, "I will not leave her."

"This is no place for a man, sir," the midwife disagreed. She was a small woman and hunched with age, but her grip must have been strong because she pinched William's arm, eliciting a cry, and then dragged him to stand and tugged him behind the screen, commanding him to at least remain on the far side, "For the sake of all decency and reason!"

Aunt Gardiner replaced William beside Elizabeth, holding her hand tightly as Elizabeth felt the urge again. She closed her eyes and pushed with all her might, feeling a scream rip from her throat as waves of pain and pressure rolled through her.

"I am no longer just a man," William said, his voice panicked. "I cannot hear my wife be in such pain and not wish to aid her!"

"Why do you think men are banned from the lying in?" the midwife grumbled. The pressure didn't ease this time, and the midwife said loudly, "Push again, Beth. The head is coming."

Elizabeth could have sworn she heard William swallow behind the screen, but in her misery, she may have been imagining things. She pushed again, and then again, which the midwife said had brought the head, and with a final cry, the pressure released, and the midwife called, "It's out!"

Elizabeth couldn't move. She could barely think. But she could listen, and for several seconds, there was no sound. Then there was a sharp slap, and then another, and finally, there was a strong, full-throated baby's cry.

"Oh, Lizzy," Aunt Gardiner said, standing and moving across the room, her voice carrying over the high-pitched screams. After a moment, she said reverently, "It's a boy. You've a son."

"Suzanna," said the midwife, her voice tense and overly calm, "come here."

Elizabeth heard a skirt rustling toward her, and she heard a soft moan as Suzanna bent down beside the midwife on the ground. "Is she bleeding too much?"

"What? What's wrong?" William asked, his voice so high-pitched that he sounded fifteen years younger.

Elizabeth felt cold hands on her stomach again, but she didn't have the energy to shy away.

"Beth…" began Suzanna.

But Elizabeth already knew what she was going to say because at that moment, another urgency took hold of her, the same as the first, and she followed the inclination automatically, bearing down with all her strength.

"Good, Beth," the midwife said. "Again."

"What is going on?" William demanded.

The two women were too absorbed to answer, and Aunt Gardiner's tense, "I do not know," surely did little to ease his concern. Elizabeth wanted to comfort him, to calm his fears, but she could not speak. Instead she pushed again, and with the midwife's encouragement she pushed several more times.

Finally, Elizabeth began to be afraid. It took too long, and she could only push once more. Only once—that was all she had.

"The head is out, Beth," Suzanna said fiercely. "It is just the shoulders now. Push again, as hard as you can. Use every bit of love you have, and every bit of yourself."

"You can do this, Lizzy," echoed Aunt Gardiner from across the room.

Elizabeth drew in a ragged sob, only then realizing she was crying, and let out a wild scream. She used the force of the cry to strengthen her, and the pressure finally released as the midwife and Suzanna both released a satisfied, "Ah-ha!"

Elizabeth had nothing left. She lay limp in the chair, listening to the sounds around her, more slaps, another cry, Aunt Gardiner murmuring a sing-song lullaby, and William alternating between whispering words of love through the screen and asking question after question about the well-being of his wife and children. It was amazing that the cries of the babies could be different, but they were, at least to her. The first, the boy, sounded more pleading, while the second child sounded almost angry, offended at being forced into the world against its will.

"What is it?" she asked. Her voice made no sound.

She swallowed down a dry thickness and repeated her question more loudly.

After a moment, Suzanna answered reverently, "It's a girl, Beth. A lovely, perfect baby girl."

She lay listening to the sounds for a long time, feeling the strange sensation of the midwife pressing on her stomach. Several minutes later, after only a few more mild pushes for the afterbirth, the midwife pressed on her abdomen a few more times then stood up, stretching with a satisfied groan. Elizabeth felt someone lower her nightdress again and cover her now-chilled body with a blanket.

Suddenly she felt William's large hands grasp one of hers, and she turned her head to face him, although she still couldn't open her eyes again. "You were late."

"I shall never forgive myself for the worry and fear and you must have experienced these past several hours. I am endlessly sorry for my tardiness. I had intended to leave Thursday afternoon—I was finished packing and was only bidding my sister farewell when the messenger arrived. I knew that you would want me to take immediate action…" His voice trailed off, and she felt someone else grasp her other hand.

"Lizzy," Aunt Gardiner said with an unmistakable tone of censure, "Mr. Darcy and I were delayed, but now is neither the time nor the place to explain the situation. It is enough to say that we are sorry you were frightened but that we arrived in time eventually and all is well. Your children are beautiful."

Elizabeth's mind was still spinning with all the might-have-beens. "I thought it would be too late," she whispered. "I thought our son would…"

"I know," William replied humbly, pressing his lips against her hand. "I am ever so sorry."

"But thank you for bringing Aunt Gardiner."

"You are most welcome."

"Are the babies… all right?"

"Yes, dear one," Suzanna answering in a crooning voice that meant she must be holding one of them. "Forty fingers and toes between them, and lusty cries. They are small, but that is to be expected with twins. They will be very hungry in a few days, and you will need help from your sisters to feed them, perhaps Cecily, but that is quite normal. All is well. You did very, very well."

Elizabeth's contentment at her answer sent the last of her tense energy sliding away. Her awareness grew murky, although she felt there was something she should finally ask. Oh, yes. What messenger? What had William said about taking action? And why wouldn't…?

She gave in and let sleep swallow her.

"Lizzy?" asked a voice from far away, so far that Lizzy almost left it unheeded. "Lizzy! You must wake up."

Lizzy floated somewhere, unable to move forward or back, although she knew she should.

"Lizzy!" the voice hissed, suddenly more present.

"What? What is it?" she murmured, feeling the heaviness of a deep sleep still weighing most of her to the soft bed.

"The children, they need to eat. We cannot wait past afternoon. Suzanna is trying to find you a wet-nurse, but in the meantime you must feed them yourself."

Elizabeth's eyes peeled open, and she tried to sit up before flopping back at the sudden assault of pain coursing through her body. It was an odd pain, not like the way she'd felt after falling from a tree or off a fence post. She hurt everywhere, but each hurt was different, some just sore, strained muscles and some a strange burning ache.

"I can imagine how you must feel," Aunt Gardiner whispered sympathetically, supporting her arm so she could rise and prop herself slightly against the pillows, "but lying abed will only make it worse. The midwife reminded me that you must sleep all you can, when you can, and then you must move about."

Elizabeth considered using one of the words Suzanna had used during her bone-setting with which to curse the midwife, but she held back out of sensitivity to her aunt's good breeding.

They worked together as gently as possible to maneuver Elizabeth into a semblance of a sitting position, and then Aunt Gardiner moved around the bed to a small cradle that Elizabeth knew was usually against the wall. She recognized this as one of the private rooms given to new mothers for the first few months while her child was still so wakeful. She thought it was probably the one Martha had vacated only a few days before, made distinctive by the starkness of the décor thanks to Martha's rather severe view of her own situation. She was a miserable girl, weighed down by the sorrow of her guilt over her liason with an employee of her father's combined with her family's harsh rejection of her once the tale was told. They had been secretly engaged, but he had been sent on a long voyage to Africa when their relations were discovered. He still had no idea about the child, for she had received no word of his whereabouts and all her letters had been returned.

Elizabeth startled when she realized that there were soft sounds coming from the cradle. Her aunt raised the child gently, and the entire focus of Elizabeth's world was suddenly centered on that tiny, squirming bundle.

"She has not stopped moving since she was born, even in sleep," Aunt Gardiner said fondly as she lay the swaddled infant in Elizabeth's uncertain arms. "I think she is going to be just like you."

"Mother always said," Elizabeth answered reverently, "that one day I would have a child just like me and know all she has suffered. I suppose she might be correct."

They both laughed quietly, but their concentration was quickly absorbed by the strange effort of convincing the baby to attach onto Elizabeth. Elizabeth was intensely grateful once again for her aunt's calm, confident presence when they had successfully convinced the tiny girl to suck. She would never have known there was a right way and a wrong way!

The entire sensation was new and surprisingly painful, and Elizabeth could not honestly claim she was comfortable with it, but holding the child close in her arms, knowing that she was her entire source of comfort and sustenance, was something Elizabeth would not give up for the wide world. She and her aunt sat quietly, her aunt rocking the now-fussing older brother as he waited his turn.

It wasn't until the little girl had fallen asleep while suckling, finally letting her mouth open and slip off, that Elizabeth looked up at her aunt in dismay. "Aunt, where is William?"

Had he left? She could not blame him. Could he really want to sit and watch his wife and children sleep all morning? Besides, nursing was a woman's province. But when would she see him next? Would he come to visit her after the children were fed? Or had he returned to the inn, hoping to get some well-deserved rest.

She could not blame him for being absent at all, but that did not stop her heart from aching.

"Lizzy," Aunt Gardiner laughed quietly, "he is right there."

Elizabeth followed the direction of her gesture to a small armchair in the shadowed corner of the bedroom. A few weak shafts of afternoon light were making their way through the drawn curtains, which made it just possible to see the outline of a shape in the chair.

"He is exhausted," her aunt explained, giving him a motherly look Elizabeth had thought reserved only for her children. She looked back at Elizabeth most seriously. "You should have seen him on the way here, Lizzy. I've never seen a man so driven, so determined to overcome the impossible as he was. I believe he would have walked here had there been no other way to reach you. He hardly spoke in the carriage, that is until I got him speaking about you. He adores you. Did you know that?"

"I am quite aware of it," Elizabeth answered, blushing with pleasure. She wanted to stand up and go to him, even if it meant a bit of pain, but her aunt was already settling the hungry little fellow against her other side, and by the time he was attached and gulping fiercely, all she could do was let her eyes rest on the chair in the corner.

"Oh, aunt," Elizabeth finally whispered, "I am so sorry about everything. I'm sorry for what happened that led to all this, and I am sorry now that I did not heed your advice and tell my family. I have been so selfish all along the way, and how I wish I could go back and fix it all, but I cannot, and I still do not know what I should have done instead."

"Lizzy," Aunt Gardiner said tenderly, "of course I wish you had told your family, for you must be able to imagine how much they have suffered in your absence, but I can certainly understand why you were afraid, especially considering how it all happened in the first place. You cannot be blamed for being unsure how to cope."

"Aunt, do you think Papa will be able to forgive me?" The words had rushed from her, and although a part of her wished she could recall them, she was relieved they'd been spoken for she desperately needed to hear the answer.

Her aunt looked away then stood, holding the infant girl against her and rubbing her back. "I… I do not know, Lizzy. Your father has not… he has not been the same since you left. I feel as if I barely know him anymore. He speaks very little to anyone, even Edward when he visits, and when he does speak he seems to be hardly there. He does not laugh anymore, or even poke fun at your mother. I do not know what he would do if he knew the truth. It might relieve him, and it might push him beyond himself too far."

More tears leaked down Elizabeth's cheeks. "I must tell him, now that I am married. I cannot live my life in hiding, the mysterious, unknown Mrs. Darcy—ha! But I can hardly bear the thought."

Her aunt's eyes were sympathetic, but she had no further comfort to offer. "What will you do now?"

Elizabeth's eyes strayed to William again. "We will stay here for a few weeks, until I am healed and the children are a little older, and then we will away to Pemberley."

Her aunt looked away, her expression troubled. "I am… not certain that will be possible. Indeed, I hope it may be so, but Lizzy, there is something I must tell you now, something you need to know although you will wish not to hear it."

Elizabeth's memories of the few minutes after her children were born were fuzzy, but she now recalled her aunt's and William's mysterious exchange. "What has happened? Is someone hurt? In trouble?"

She waited most impatiently while her aunt slowly lowered the baby boy into the cradle, bending her entire body in a strange manner as she did so, that he might remain calm as he was laid down, then turned to face her and return to the bedside. She sat primly on the edge and reached out, taking Elizabeth's nearest hand.

"Do you remember, Lizzy, a young officer who appeared in Meryton only a few weeks before you came away, a Lieutenant Wickham? He was quite handsome, terribly charming, and a great favorite with your younger sisters. I am even told that you spent an evening or two much in his company, deep in conversation. Jane says that he told you some things regarding Mr. Darcy?"

Elizabeth's mind was whirling, images of that first evening party returning to her as if it had happened only the night before. Of course! How had she forgotten? She had worked so hard that night to appear normal, cheerful even, as a cover for the misery and guilt that had already begun to plague her since her night in William's chamber the week before. Some of her bitterness must have leaked through, for as soon as Mr. Wickham had confirmed her antipathy toward William, he had begun a most gently-delivered and deeply-vexing account of all Mr. Darcy's wrongdoings towards himself. At the time his report had only confirmed William's changeable, selfish nature, and in the weeks afterward, Elizabeth had found great comfort in Mr. Wickham's willingness to engage in conversation after conversation abusing William and insulting all those who thought well of him.

But in the months since, Elizabeth had first questioned then doubted then tossed away his account as she had actively worked to forgive William. She had begun to see how inappropriate Mr. Wickham's revelations had been and how open she had left herself to deception considering the state of her emotions. Had Mr. Wickham been able to sense the depth of her pain, the reality of her attachment to William underlying all her vitriol? She had been foolish, and in the interest of moving forward, she had ignored all his words, deciding not to judge where she could not prove. In the process of time, she had nearly forgotten him.

"Lizzy?"

Her attention returned to her aunt. "Yes. I mean, of course I remember him. What about him?"

"Apparently in the months following your disappearance, Mr. Wickham was a regular visitor at Longbourn, 'a true friend and comforter' your mother called him, although there was a period during which he was there but rarely, a few months when he was paying court to a newly-wealthy young lady who was visiting the neighborhood. Her guardian whisked her away, however, and his interest in your family was renewed. Mr. Bingley never seemed to approve of him, but he is altogether too generous a young man to make anyone uncomfortable, so he was civil toward him without ever being truly friendly. Jane, too, seemed wary of him, which I later learned was because Mr. Bingley had given her some intimation that Mr. Wickham had a rather colorful history partially involving Mr. Darcy, but the two decided to hope for the best, to have faith that he had become more respectable.

"When the regiment left Meryton for Brighton at the beginning of the summer, your two younger sisters were devastated, although they exhibited no signs of favoring any particular officer over any other. Jane and Mr. Bingley were relieved at their leaving, which meant that neither of them was pleased when Lydia received a special invitation from the Colonel's wife to come to Brighton with her. You can imagine Lydia's unrestrained enthusiasm, I am certain, so despite Jane and Mr. Bingley's words of caution to your father, he waved them away and sent Lydia on holiday most gladly."

"All seemed well in Lydia's correspondence to your mother, and truly, things at Longbourn were a good deal more peaceful without her. Your uncle and I went on a short holiday this summer to Derbyshire, not staying away too long since I knew I wished to come to you after the children were born, and we were just returning home by way of Longbourn when an express arrived for your father from Colonel Forster."

Her aunt paused then, obviously reluctant to continue.

"Speak on, dear aunt," Elizabeth whispered. "I fear I can already predict your words, but I cannot help but hope my worries are unfounded."

"You know your youngest sister too well. The Colonel had discovered that Lydia had run away with Mr. Wickham, claiming they were going to Scotland to marry. The express was alarming, so your uncle and I stayed on to calm the family. I am glad we did, because the very next day, Colonel Forster arrived at Longbourn to offer his apologies and explain that while an elopement would have been imprudent, he feared far worse. Another officer had given him the impression that Wickham had no intention of marrying her, so the colonel had left Brighton and traced their route. As far as he could tell, they only went as far as London but not beyond."

Elizabeth closed her eyes, trying to contain her emotions, a convoluted mix of rage, concern, and mortification. "Oh, Lydia. Foolish, selfish, _stupid_ girl. Of course they did not marry! Lydia has nothing to offer him, no inducement for him to follow through on his promises. What can she have been thinking?"

"She wants to be loved, Lizzy, she always has. More than anything else, she wishes to be adored. Can you imagine anything to which she would have warmed more quickly than worshipful words and looks from a handsome, charming officer?"

"Indeed not," Elizabeth sighed, covering her face with her hands. "But still, how can she have put all the others at risk with her stupidity? I left home, I left _everything_ and _everyone_ I loved behind in order to save my sisters from dishonor, and Lydia, in one ridiculous moment, threw them _all_ to the wind. I do not know that I can forgive her for that."

"In time, I think you will see that your own situation has taught you enough compassion to forgive those who make unwise decisions, especially decisions of the heart."

Elizabeth blushed, ashamed, but could not express remorse for her professions. "What is being done then to recover her? And if she is found, what can possibly be done to remedy the situation?"

"Immediately after the colonel's visit, your uncle and I set off for home, accompanied by Mr. Bingley. We… well, we tried to convince your father to attend us, but he showed little interest in Lydia's recovery. I'm afraid… I very much fear that your father has lost his spirit, Lizzy. He said there was nothing he could do in any case, and that as Lydia had created her own troubles, she deserved to suffer them. He is almost entirely unconcerned about your other sisters' reputations, claiming that any negative for them will be counteracted by Mr. Bingley's marriage to Jane."

"But will he still marry her?" Elizabeth asked urgently, grasping her aunt's hand. "Would it not be wiser of him to distance himself from us?"

"Your sister attempted to release him from his promise, but he would not have it," Mrs. Gardiner answered, smiling fondly. "I would not have thought it, but he is most decisive in his commitments. Your sister was quite overcome by his devotion, and in the face of such affection, she could not hold fast against him. It was perfectly touching."

"I am so glad!" Elizabeth declared, leaning back into the pillows. "At least they two shall be happy in all this, and his reputation will provide some protection for Mary and Kitty, although not enough."

"His marriage to your sister combined with Mr. Darcy's marriage to you will be enough. I believe your sisters will be respectable enough despite Lydia's behavior. At least, there is reason to hope."

"But what about our effect on William's reputation? On his sister? And Miss Bingley? Will we not all still suffer for Lydia's foolishness?"

"I shall do my best to prevent that," said a deep voice from the armchair in the corner. Elizabeth watched William rise to stand, stretching his neck and massaging a part of his shoulder, more handsome in his wrinkled clothing and rueful expression than she had ever seen him when formally attired in a drawing room.

"But how?" Elizabeth asked, too horrified by the entire situation to meet his gaze as he moved toward the cradle. How could he not regret her now? Yet he had known all of this before he had spoken his vows this morning. Could it have been the urgency of the moment that had driven him to wed her, combined with his adherence to his sense of duty, or did he truly love her enough to ally himself to her despite yet another seemingly-impossible challenge?

He gazed into the cradle and reached out, gently smoothing the single dark curl on the little girl's forehead. "The message I received that delayed my returning to Havenswood was from your aunt, who found my calling card upon her return home, realized I was in town, and knew she could rely upon me for aid. I waited upon your uncle and Mr. Bingley, who were surprised by my desire to offer assistance but unable to refuse it. I know Wickham of old, and I have more ways and means to find the cretin than any other. I enlisted Colonel Fitzwilliam's help, but it still took almost a full day to find and hire the right men to seek Wickham in my absence. I have left them in Fitzwilliam's capable hands, and I received an express late this morning indicating that they have caught the scent and are narrowing in on our prey."

"Oh, William," Elizabeth breathed, her chest tight with love as well as sorrow. "How can you bear it? How can you be willing to help my family out of such foolishness? How could you possibly still wish to marry me after all this?"

"I have never wanted anything," William answered, moving closer, scooting forward a small chair nearer the bedside, and taking her hand as he sat, "so much as I wanted to marry you, Elizabeth, and the gift of your love is a greater blessing than I can ever repay. Consider any efforts I make on your sister's behalf a small first payment on the debt of what I wish to give you."

Tears welled in her eyes, and she couldn't answer. She could only raise his hand and press a kiss into his palm.

"All is not yet mended," her aunt said quietly, standing gracefully. "Lydia must be found, and once she is, it must be determined what shall be best for all of us, but it is only thanks to you, Mr. Darcy, that there is any hope at all."

William looked uncomfortable. "Nonsense. If I had been more open with my knowledge of Wickham's past, none of this would have been possible. 'Tis almost entirely my fault."

"I believe that you and I shall argue about this for a good many years," Aunt Gardiner laughed. "Welcome to our family, sir."

He smiled widely at her then, nodding once. "An honor I shall never underappreciate, I swear it."

Her aunt nodded as well and curtseyed before turning and exiting the room, glancing again into the cradle before she left.

"What do you know of Mr. Wickham, William?" Elizabeth asked, grasping his hand tightly with both of hers. "He told me a tale many months ago that I have long since learned to discount, but what truly occurred between you that has engendered such bitterness and anger?"

William sighed, drew in a deep breath, and then began quietly, "George Wickham is the son of my late father's steward…"

Elizabeth listened with growing disgust as William relayed his history with George Wickham, but the depth of her horror upon learning of his attempted seduction of young Miss Darcy created a revulsion and anger deeper than she had often experienced.

"He is the worst sort of libertine!" Elizabeth cried.

"Indeed," William answered darkly, his countenance grim. "He is everything wicked, and yet I allowed him to remain in Hertfordshire, in close company with your family, without so much as a warning to your father."

"You were protecting your sister's reputation," Elizabeth argued.

"At the cost of _your_ sister's future," he replied.

"You could not have known that. You would have had no reason to suspect that he would prey upon her or any other young lady of the neighborhood. They are none of them rich enough to tempt him."

"Yes, but I should have predicted that your family's imminent connection to Bingley…"

"Nonsense!" she cried. "You could not have known! You did what you thought best. Perhaps a warning would have helped, but Papa was always incautious, and if, as my aunt suggests, he has grown even more indifferent, then nothing you might have said would have changed the outcome. I _refuse _to allow you to blame yourself."

William appeared unable to prevent a small smile. "You would hold me blameless then, madam, for _every_ poor decision I make? Wickham? Getting drunk that night? Seducing you? Leaving you to suffer in such a state of misery for months? I will grow quite evil before you are finished with me, and yet I shall have perfect confidence in my own purity."

"Of course you are not perfect, sir. You have many faults, and the next time you vex me, I shall take great delight in enumerating them to you, but I shall _not_ allow you to carry guilt for honest mistakes or for others' choices."

His smile grew, and he raised her hand, pressing a lingering kiss on the back of it. "I shall look forward then to the next time I annoy you, my love. It will be quite illuminating, I have no doubt."

She smiled, too. "As shall I, for we have our whole lives to enjoy such pleasures."

His expression intensified then. "You were incredible this morning, Elizabeth. The strength you demonstrated, all that you endured to bring our children into the world. I am impressed and overwhelmed to have earned the love of such a woman as you."

She turned her face up to him, and he kissed her with a passionate gentleness that made her wish her body were far less battered and far more able to react as she normally would have.

"Stay here," she blurted sharply as he moved back.

"What?"

"I do not want you to leave each night and return to the inn. I know it wouldn't be seemly—a house full of women, and there is no room to give you your own chambers. I just… we are a family now, and I hate the thought of you so far away every night. Forgive me for my foolishness."

William ran his hand up over her shoulder and onto her cheek, smoothing his thumb along her cheekbone. "Michael has already ridden over to the inn and retrieved my belongings. Lady Winters gave me reluctant permission to remain here now that we are wed, and she warned me I would not have my own room. I cannot say that caveat bothers me. I can aid you little, especially at night, but I will do all I can. It is only your _privacy_ that would be frustrated."

She thought of the strange new sensation of feeding her children earlier and blushed deeply. "You are my husband now, sir. Any privacy I am afforded is at your leisure."

"No," he answered immediately, warming her heart. "I will do whatever is required to secure your comfort, my love, and if that requires me leaving the room each time the babies must eat, then…"

"We shall find a solution. I do not know that this is a common problem, since there is usually a wet-nurse who takes the infants out of sight."

"We could still employ one," he offered. "In fact, Lady Winters said that it is not only a nicety now but possibly a necessity."

"You would not insist on it?"

"Not if you truly wished to feed the children on your own and found that you could manage it."

"I want to try, yes. Thank you."

"Very well. Then we shall… move forward one step at a time. I admit, I am not used to having to live with so much uncertainty. I dislike not knowing how to plan for the immediate future."

She stretched her neck to kiss his forehead. "As do I. But for now, we must content ourselves with simply doing our best with each decision as it arises."

"Indeed." He kissed her again deeply then pulled back. She realized as he moved away that her eyes didn't wish to open again. "You are tired."

"I suppose I am."

"Sleep then, my love. I will be here when you wake."

Elizabeth's mind was so full that she felt rest would be impossible, but it was only a few more moments before she felt herself drifting away. What was to be done about Lydia? What would William be able to do for her? Would Elizabeth be able to help? Or would she even be capable of simply caring for her own children?

"Wait," she murmured into the darkness. "What shall we call the children? They need names."

"The names will keep until later, my darling. Sleep now." She felt his fingers brush a curl off her face, just as he had off their daughter's face a few moments before. There was so much love in his touch, so much promise.

Her last thought was of her father sitting in his library, a book in one hand, a glass of port on the table beside his favorite armchair, and a distant unhappy look in his eyes as he stared into the fire. Would her father ever forgive her for the troubles she had begun? Or for the fact that despite it all, she had found her happiness?

August 12, 18_

"Mr. Bennet,

"I hope and pray that this letter finds you and those of your family still at Longbourn well. It has been many months since I have seen you, sir, although Mr. Bingley has kept me informed regarding your well-being. I was most sorry to learn of your youngest daughter's elopement and subsequent unfortunate situation, but I wish to assure you of both my secrecy and my willingness to offer aid to yourself and your family in the attempts to reconcile her circumstances. I will do all I can to render assistance.

"In the spirit of that commitment, sir, I know not whether you have ever again thought of my earlier promise to you last November, my pledge to do my best to find your other daughter, Elizabeth, but I write to you today, in the greatest secrecy, to tell you that I have fulfilled it. I hope and pray, sir, that the knowledge of her discovery will bring some solace to you in this time of worry and concern.

"It is with great relief and pleasure that I inform you that she is healthy and safe. I beg your patience as I unfold before you the circumstances that led to her leaving before I explain where I have located her.

"Last October, if you will recall, shortly after Mr. Bingley and his party, including myself, came to occupy Netherfield, your eldest daughter caught cold during a visit there and remained for one week while she recovered. Elizabeth arrived quickly and stayed to nurse her back to health. Elizabeth found that week most difficult, not only because she was caring for her sister, but because she was surrounded by company who were at least indifferent and at worst nearly hostile toward her. We treated her with what she believed to be contempt and disgust. By the end of her stay, she was exhausted by such negativity, and two nights before their departure, she gave into her sister's advice that she take a small dose of laudanum to help her sleep deeply. The dose affected her immediately, and she retired.

"Unfortunately, she retired to the wrong chamber without realizing it, so complete was the medicine's effect upon her. Several hours later, the mistake was discovered by the true occupant of the room as he prepared for bed. The man had stayed downstairs when the rest of the party retired, drinking heavily in an attempt to erase from his mind the very temptation which now lay so innocently in his bed. It was too much for him to resist in his inebriated state.

"The next morning when the man awoke, he convinced himself it had been a dream. Although his memories of a night of lovemaking were vivid, they were somewhat bent with drunkenness and also highly unlikely, and he could find not a single shred of evidence that the lady he remembered had ever been present. He was horrified at the apparent reality of his imagination and relieved that he hadn't truly been so reckless, and he settled upon himself a deep resolve to expunge all affections for the lady from his mind and heart, fearing that if he did not, he would not be able to ever control himself in her presence. He ignored her for the rest of her stay, and in the few moments they met between that night and the night she vanished, he remained aloof and unreachable, no matter how it pained him. It was only upon Elizabeth's disappearance some weeks later that he realized how deeply his feelings were effected. He resolved to do all in his power to find her.

"Imagine, then, what must have been happening in Elizabeth's mind through all this. When she awakened in the morning after taking the laudanum and found herself in my bed with strange, disjointed memories of passion, she panicked, removed all evidence of her presence, and returned to her own room before dawn. She was broken-hearted at the loss of her innocence, but had some hope that I would do my duty and right her. But when she was met the next morning with indifference and apparent cruelty, she lost all hope. She resolved never to marry and never to tell anyone of her indiscretion.

"However, when she realized she was with child, she knew all could not go on as it had. She attempted to speak to me at the ball, to tell me about her situation and beg for my help, but I was cold and aloof, and she could not bear it. Instead she followed directions provided her by a friend and traveled like lightning to a manor in Surrey where young ladies such as herself can go to have their children out of the public eye without tarnishing their families. She has spent the last several months learning various trades, trying to find one in which she had enough skill to care for herself and her child on her own, and has discovered pleasure and ability in tailoring. She had planned to go to London when her child was older and find work.

"Two months ago, thankfully, I finally came upon information as to her whereabouts, and I tracked her down at once. For the first time, we both understood all that had happened that night, and I offered for her immediately. She, you will not be surprised, refused me point blank. It took me six weeks to change her mind and convince her that, considering I loved her deeply and she had grown in such affection for me as well, she would be happier as mistress of my home than as a seamstress.

"We were married nearly a week ago, sir, and upon the same day our children were born: Bennet Fitzwilliam Darcy and Madeline Anne Darcy. They are both healthy and happy, although Elizabeth is exhausted.

"In three more weeks, when the children are old enough, we are to travel to Pemberley, an arduous but necessary journey. We will, I believe, remain there for some time, until the children have grown some.

"Sir, I know not how you must be feeling in this moment. I can only imagine you are shocked and overwhelmed, but I cannot know how your feelings will shift after that passes. All I know is that Elizabeth misses you dearly. She loves you, sir, and craves your forgiveness but is afraid to seek it. She feels, I know, that she does not deserve it, and she cannot abide the possibility that you might agree with her.

"Take as much time as you need, sir. Elizabeth does not know I am writing to you, and so you may think and consider as long as you wish. I only ask that once you have decided, you will write to me and let me know. Do you want to see her? Would you allow us to visit you? Or would you rather we stay away? We cannot promise to stay away from Jane's wedding. If, once all is revealed, she asks for her sister's attendance, her wishes shall supersede yours, but after that, you will never see us again if you wish it, even if it breaks Elizabeth's heart.

"But if you can find it in your heart to forgive both of us for our stupidity and Elizabeth for her fear, then your approbation would be the final blessing on our union. We both hope such might be the case, but I leave the choice in your hands. Reply as you wish, and know that I will always, no matter your own feelings, remain

"Your devoted servant,

"Fitzwilliam Darcy.

"Postscript: Since writing the above, I have received word that Lydia is found. There is little detail, and you shall perhaps know more than I already, but I shall away to London this very evening, sir, and do all I can to bring this situation to the best conclusion possible. You may rely upon me. You will have further news as soon as there is anything to report. Farewell."


	7. Chapter 7

_Sorry for posting later than I had planned. This chapter headed in a direction that wasn't in my plan, and it's taken me a few days to mourn and finally accept that a living story sometimes makes its own decisions. Hopefully I can still drag it back to the ending I had hoped for, but I guess I shouldn't count on it. Also, sorry for the fixes in the last couple of chapters. Once again, I lost track of my timeline and had to go back and make repairs. Those should be the last ones (knock on wood). _

_Jane Austen is on my list of people I'd like to go to dinner with, and since I don't like dining alone, I suppose that means I am not her after all. Pity. _

_Havenswood_, Chapter Seven

Elizabeth's eyes had only been closed for a moment, just for a moment, she was certain, when a knock on the door of her room startled her into wakefulness.

"Beth, dear," Cecily said, opening the door gently, "are you awake? The post has come."

"Of course I'm awake," Elizabeth said, stifling a yawn and trying to widen her eyes. "Is there something for me?"

"You were asleep, and don't try to deny it," Cecily laughed sympathetically. She gazed down at the wide-eyed baby in the crook of her arm. "There's no need to be embarrassed. I haven't had a good night's sleep since she was born, and you've two to manage!"

Elizabeth leaned back against the headboard of her bed, gazing down at the sleeping bundles in her arms. The midwife had shown her some days before how to prop the pillows so that she might feed both babies at once, and now she felt almost like an expert. It had saved her life already, she was certain, for trying to feed them one after the other had meant no sleep whatsoever those first few nights. "Very well then," she laughed, chagrined, "I was dozing. I couldn't help it."

"No one expects anything else," Cecily assured her. "Until they are six weeks old, all you need do is sleep." Then her face grew sad. "You'll have left us by then, though, will you not?"

A wave of sadness swept over Elizabeth. "Yes, although I am not certain how I shall bear it."

Cecily set the basket she carried on a nearby chair and sat softly on the bed beside Elizabeth, putting her free arm around her shoulders. "You shall bear it easily enough. You'll have two beautiful children, one handsome, wealthy husband who adores you, and an entire estate with which to busy yourself. You'll not have time to miss us."

"This has been my home at a time in my life when I thought I could never have a home again," Elizabeth sniffed, wiping at her eyes with a cloth she had used to catch Bennet's spit-up. Her standards in handkerchiefs had lowered significantly in only a few days. "I can hardly imagine any other life now, past or future."

"This place lives up to its name, doesn't it? Havenswood. It is a haven, that's certain, but Suzanna told me once that a haven is only a 'respite,' a place to catch one's breath before returning to the fray. It's not a place one is meant to stay forever."

"Perhaps that makes it all the more precious," Elizabeth sighed, leaning her head on Cecily's shoulder.

After a moment, Cecily asked quietly, "Beth, I know you are a grand lady now, the wife of Mr. Darcy and all that, and that you will be terribly busy, but… may I write to you? I know I'm only a shop-girl, no matter how important Daddy thinks he is now that his shop is so fashionable, and no matter how many finishing schools I attend, but I should like to write. If I may."

"Of course!" Elizabeth cried, wishing her arms were not occupied so she could hug her friend. "I very much hope you will write, and I promise to answer as soon as I may. Mrs. Darcy or not, my friends are my friends as my past is my past. I would never think myself above you."

"Even if you came into the shop? And I was the one you found waiting on you?" Cecily asked skeptically.

Elizabeth frowned. "Of course I would treat you no differently, although I suppose that Society shall expect me to change. I shall simply have to do all I can to make sure that does not happen, that I never forget the truth of who I am and those who loved me when I needed it most."

"All you must do, I suspect," Cecily said, giggling a little, "is take it upon yourself to clean the grates or dust the chandeliers or muck the stable once a week, just to keep yourself humble."

"That's a brilliant idea!" Elizabeth laughed. "I shall make quite a splash with the staff, shan't I?"

They laughed together for a moment, and Cecily stood, moving to leave. "Oh, your letter!" She jumped back and pulled a packet out of the basket.

Elizabeth gently slid her arm out from beneath Madeline and grasped the letter, feeling tears coming again. "Finally. I thought he had forgotten me."

"You _are_ a silly," Cecily chided. "He loves you. Why not simply accept it?"

She swept out the door with a farewell flick of her fingers, pulling it shut behind her, but Elizabeth didn't look away from the back of the door for several seconds. Cecily's words had stunned her far more deeply than her friend had intended.

William had been gone for four days—only four—and had sent her a letter the night of his arrival to assure her of his safe travel and to confirm that Lydia was found, although he had not yet seen her for himself. He had assured her that he would write again as soon as he had news.

Yet why, in the _two days_ since she had received his letter, had she already managed to question the strength and endurance of his attachment to her? They were married now, and their children were his heirs, but even before that had been a certainty, had he ever been inconstant? Never for a moment. Why did she continue to question him?

Cecily's words repeated in her head. "He loves you. Why not simply accept it?"

Why not? Could she just _decide_ to trust in his love, to trust in his heart?

She shook her head, cracking the wax and unfolding the pages. Her eyes fastened to the opening of the letter, "My darling Elizabeth," but somehow she could not move past it. She longed to hear from William, to know how he fared, to know what he was suffering at the hands of her family and the miscreant George Wickham, but at the same time, she feared knowing, wondering if it might be better to remain ignorant.

She drew in a deep breath and released it in a laugh. She despised ignorance! How would not-knowing be any better?

"August 19th, 18_

"My darling Elizabeth,

"I know not where to begin this missive, there is so much to write. First and foremost, I long to ask question after question regarding your well-being and that of the children. Is all well? Have you managed any sleep at all these past days? Is Madeline still crying through every changing? Has Bennet managed to get his thumb into his mouth yet? I want to know all, and yet I know even as I ask that your answers will not satisfy me, for what I truly wish is to be there. I know that no amount of reports will alleviate my desperate need to lay beside you in our bed, too exhausted even to sleep, to hold Maddy as she lays awake after feeding, and to hold Ben as he makes that whuffling sound in his sleep. I miss you dearly, beloved, and although I may sleep here without interruption, I would rather be there, fatigued and ragged and with you.

"It is good, however, that I am here, only because I want to do all I can to aid your family. My letter to you after I arrived confirmed that your youngest sister had, indeed, been found in London, but it wasn't until the next morning, upon visiting your Uncle's home, that I became entirely aware of all the circumstances.

"When Lydia left Brighton with Wickham, it was with every understanding on her part that they were making their way to Gretna Green. Apparently he had shown her great attentiveness and partiality since their arrival at Brighton, and she was deeply convinced of their mutual devotion. He assured her that they must only elope because of some wretched, lying creditors in Brighton who, if he were to publish a public engagement to the daughter of a gentleman, would call in his debts, which he had not, at that time, enough solvency to diffuse. He was most pathetic and most "horribly in love with her," she said, that he could not wait to marry her, so she agreed to the elopement.

"When they reached London, what Lydia had thought to be a simple carriage stop turned into an overnight stay because there was a supposed 'message' left for Wickham at the inn, some 'business' he must take care of in town before he left again. Lydia readily agreed that, in order to not arouse suspicion, they should pose as an already-married couple, and they asked for a single room for the night. It pains me to relay this, but for the sake of complete transparency, I will tell you that, according to your sister, that inn was where Wickham made defeat of her virtue and claimed her as his 'wife.'

"The next day they removed to a lodging house in a 'shockingly neglected' part of the city, and after insisting that Lydia remain in their rooms for her own sake, he disappeared and spent most of the day out, as well as part of the evening. That night, when she asked him whether they traveled on the next day, he would only say that his business was not yet concluded and that she must be patient. The story was the same the next day as well, and on the several days following. Lydia reports that she tried to be patient with him, to show him what a loving, gentle, trusting wife she would make, but that he was so horrid when she became even the 'teensiest bit' impatient that she declared she 'wasn't at all sure' they would suit after all. Wickham would, of course, snort in amusement and proceed to ignore her.

"The previous morning, the informants I hired located Wickham. A message was dispatched to me, but my cousin Fitzwilliam decided to act immediately after arriving at the lodging house and watching a surreptitious exchange in the street outside between Wickham and a man whom the informants identified as a purveyor of false-identities, implying that Wickham might be considering disappearing. Fitz, claiming to be acting as a friend to Bingley, barged into their rooms, flanked by two other officers who have some not-so-pleasant memories of George Wickham, and proceeded to attempt to frighten the man out of his wits, threatening him with everything from physical retribution to debtor's prison to charges of desertion.

"Wickham never has been a man who acted on fear, and in the face of Fitzwilliam's intimidation, he simply closed off, refusing to speak to anyone. Lydia was, of course, 'frightened out of her mind,' but Wickham offered her no comfort, only demanding that she go into the bedroom and 'shut up!' until he called for her to come out.

"I am sorry to say that Fitzwilliam's technique, although understandable, had the opposite effect of the one he desired. Wickham eventually claimed to be willing to consider matrimony with Lydia, given the right pecuniary recompense, and the men agreed to part for the evening and return on the morrow to draw up a contract. Fitz knew I would be in town by then, so he was glad to leave that part of the negotiation in my hands, although he had not yet told Wickham that I would be participating. They exacted a promise before leaving that Wickham would go nowhere that night, and Fitzwilliam left a man at the door just in case he attempted escape, but alas, their efforts were not enough. After stoically ignoring all of Lydia's rantings and pleadings after the gentlemen left, Wickham waited until Lydia retired and shimmied out the window into an alleyway. Despite all attempts to hunt him down, Wickham has disappeared, although there is some evidence that he boarded a ship bound for the West Indies.

"Lydia is understandably devastated, and again, it will not surprise you that she is far more concerned about Wickham's abandonment than about her ruination. She walks through your aunt's house crying and carrying on, breaking into heart-wrenching sobs at every opportune moment about her 'dear Wickham,' and refusing to eat (although your aunt knows she is sneaking food from the kitchen at all hours). I do not claim to know your sister anywhere as well as you do, but I freely admit that much of her grief has a flavor of performance rather than sincerity.

"After spending two days hunting fruitlessly for the blackguard, Bingley, Uncle Gardiner, Fitz and I agreed that we must find another solution, some way to rescue Lydia's reputation, or at least control the damage. It was in the midst of that discussion when, entirely unexpectedly, your father arrived on your uncle's doorstep."

Lizzy stopped reading, clasping the letter to her heart and pinching her eyes closed tightly. Her father! He had come! He had awakened to a sense of his duty after all! She had never been so relieved. And yet, even reading a reference to him brought her a sense of pain and anxiety.

"We immediately acquainted him with the details, but before Bingley could finish explaining to him our best proposed plan—an attempt to purchase a different husband for Lydia, one who would take her far away from Hertfordshire—he surprised us all with an assertion that there was, in fact, little need to rescue Lydia's reputation at all.

"It would seem that although the truth of the situation and Lydia's mistakes is quite dire, very little of her situation has been broadcast through the neighborhood of Meryton or amongst the society at Brighton. I'm sure that will surprise you as much as it did us, but according to your father, a series of propitious events conspired to contain the news at Longbourn quite effectively. In the first place, Aunt Gardiner's presence at Longbourn at the time the express was received was most beneficial, for upon seeing your mother's distress, she immediately removed her to her rooms, administered some sleeping powder, and charged Jane, Mary, and Kitty with the duty of 'watching over' her, a duty which included keeping away any and all callers, even including Mrs. Phillips, for the sake of your mother's health and peace-of-mind. Jane, upon seeing the wisdom of her aunt's maneuvers, had a discreet conversation with your housekeeper, Mrs. Hill, who was the only servant as yet aware of the situation, and that good woman agreed to keep mum for the sake of the family.

"Although Colonel Forster's visit the next day was met with some chagrin, Jane was all graceful solicitude until he was installed comfortably in your father's study, and she later managed to explain the visit to all the neighbors as a courtesy call on 'his way through the area on some business.' The Colonel realized, of course, the seriousness of the situation and felt most deeply responsible for it, especially given the obvious neglect his wife had shown in her duties as a chaperone, and his words of remonstrance to his wife were so forceful that she had fled in tears and immediately embarked on an extended visit to her family in the north. According to your father, the Colonel didn't seem nearly as despondent at her desertion as a relatively-newly-married man ought to be, but the effect was that the only others in Brighton who knew of the true circumstances were Wickham's close companions, all of whom were now under the Colonel's direct orders to keep silent and say only that he had taken a transfer wholly unconnected to Miss Lydia's sudden departure.

"In effect, although we can hardly believe it, Lydia's disgrace is almost completely unknown. All of Brighton believes that she left suddenly to visit a sick relation in a distant county, a story quickly picked up and spread through most of Hertfordshire, and that your mother has been taken by a mild-but-lingering illness.

"None of this alleviates the reality of her situation—she is effectively ruined, a truth that has not yet dawned on her, not with its full implications—but she, and our family, are saved from the disgrace of her behavior, and now only she need suffer for it. It has not yet been long enough to know whether she is with child, a circumstance most of the other gentlemen deem unlikely, although my own opinions on the matter are far from hopeful for obvious reasons. We have barely discussed what shall be done if she is breeding. I had considered suggesting Havenswood, although I would rather not. Even if it would not incriminate me, I am not sure such a place is right for her, for in my humble opinion, I very much doubt that she would be willing to put in the work that is required to maintain a place there. You, however, are probably more knowledgeable regarding the advisability of making the suggestion than I.

"We will meet again tomorrow afternoon to come to a final decision, but at this moment, I suspect your father and Bingley will move in favor of returning her home once we are assured she is not with child. I still believe she ought to be sent away somewhere, not permanently, but far enough to prevent her from loosening her tongue to old friends until she has gained some maturity. I suggested finding a school for her, but your father does not wish to take on the expense, and he would brook no offers of assistance from myself or Bingley. I very much fear what might happen once she returns home, but that decision is out of my hands, and I have done all I can.

"In the end, I know not how to feel regarding the outcome. Lydia is found, her reputation is as secure as one can hope for, and George Wickham has left the country. I cannot help but be relieved at his disappearance—I would have willingly offered any sum in my possession to convince him to accept her hand and right her, for your sake far more than for hers, but it would have been galling to do so knowing that I was signing on for a lifetime of brotherhood to such a scoundrel. I am relieved, yet at least had they been forced to marry, her reputation would have been secured. Now it is left to chance, to hope that she will learn some discretion and that your mother, pardon me for saying it, will learn some for herself. I am certain you will recall how much I dislike leaving things to chance.

"There is more to tell, my darling, of your youngest sister, of Bingley's endearing pride in and admiration for your eldest sister, of Fitzwilliam and Georgiana, of your aunt's heroics, and of your father, but I fear my candle is sputtering, and I am too exhausted to go searching for another. I'll write again soon, and send word as soon as I know when I shall return, but in the meantime, be assured that I think of you and our children at every moment, and am forever,

Your loving husband,

William"

Elizabeth read the letter four times in its entirety before she was finally forced by Bennet's renewed fussing to set it aside. She attended to changing him, which required almost full concentration considering how nervous it still made her, then returned to the bed and began feeding him before she could finally begin to consider the reality of what had occurred.

After all their worries, all their fears, Lydia was rescued, Wickham was gone, and their family's good standing was untarnished? How was it possible that all had worked out so neatly? When he had left, neither of them had considered any other positive outcome than bribing Wickham into marrying her, but this… well, it seemed better. True, Wickham might return at any time, but a long voyage on a boat traveling west was a hopeful sign that they would have at least months if not years before it was possible. Perhaps if William were to buy up a majority of Wickham's debts now then he would have more sway over his silence if he ever were to return…

Now if only there were a way to keep Lydia silent. A school at some distance from home, a finishing school of good repute, would be a perfect solution, but she was not surprised at her father's refusal. No man would wish to accept from others what he could not provide for himself, not even her father. But what to do instead? To bring Lydia and Mama back together and leave them to visit the neighborhood? The story would not remain quiet for a single week, possibly not even a single afternoon. What was to be done?

Perhaps if they were to…

Madeline awakened quite suddenly, startling and then shrieking sharply, with far more power than anything of her size should possess. Maddy got angry at everything: being awakened, being changed, _not_ being changed, not being fed quickly enough, being fed too much all at once… The list went on and on. And yet, there was something infinitely dear about her little puckered face when _finally_ one had managed to right all the wrongs the world had done her. Lizzy sighed as she saw the tell-tale spread of color up the side of Maddy's white gown. She needed to be changed, and she would squall until after it was accomplished, but how was it possible to change one child while feeding the other?

What to do about Lydia would have to wait. For now, it was all Elizabeth could do to survive the next twenty minutes.

Two more days. Elizabeth stood at the window, hoping against hope that a single wisp of fresh air might ease into the overheated room. For the first time in two days, Ben and Maddy had both fallen asleep at approximately the same time, which meant that she had a few minutes, maybe even up to two hours, to rest, and yet it was far too hot to sleep. She didn't wish to spend another second in that bed, lying on that sweltering blanket, for it reminded her too much of the overwhelming heat of holding those two little embers to feed them and nearly baking into a crisp. It was much better to stand, to walk about, for at least then she created her own breeze. The summer before she had suffered through the hottest days by escaping the house and finding a secluded creek where she could remove her stockings and wade. What she wouldn't give at this moment to be alone at a creekside, dangling her feet in the cool water and raising up a handful to drip over her face.

Or perhaps not entirely alone. She would happily leave the babies here for an hour or so to seek out a creek—her motherly attachment did not yet run so deep as to be at all reluctant to escape for a few minutes—but it would not be terrible at all to drag William with her. She would very much enjoy seeing what he would do when confronted with a wayward wife who, the moment she had arrived at the water's edge, would remove her shoes and stockings, toss aside her bonnet, and lift her skirts as she danced into the current.

Would he remain on the side, looking disapproving and uncomfortable, casting glances about in case she might be seen? Once she would have guessed that, but not so anymore. At the very least, she was certain he would find a seat on an obliging rock, lean back with folded arms, and smile at her indulgently as she frolicked. Perhaps he would even crouch down near the water's edge and flick it at her, enjoying her delighted laughter. In her wildest dreams, he would remove his own coat and boots and join her, leading her in a waltz right in the middle of the creek, but it was difficult to picture her very proper husband in such disarray anywhere outside of his bedchamber.

The thought made her already-overheated cheeks even hotter. She was a married woman now—it could not be too improper for her to consider something as common as her husband's attire in his bedchamber—yet their relationship was so unique that she had a difficult time thinking of herself as such. They were married, and her memories of the night they had spent together in November were still quite vivid, so she knew she was no maid, but she had worked so hard in the intervening months to rid her mind of those thoughts that she quite naturally shied away from them even now, and it was certainly not as if they were likely to begin… or rather, _resume_ relations anytime soon.

The doctor, when he had come to check her after the babies were born, had specifically advised her against sleeping in the same bed as her husband until after the children were weaned, for fear that any relations between them might upset the feeding, but the midwife had laughed at his advice when she had visited later and said that stuffy doctors must all have very cold marriages if they followed their own guidance. She had said that they need only wait until the children were a few months old, until she felt entirely whole again, and that they may as well enjoy relations as much as possible before the weaning for she was much less likely to begin breeding again while she was still feeding.

Elizabeth's head still spun even considering it. Which advice was correct? What was William's own opinion on the matter? Had he ever given it thought? Would he think it more proper to wait until after they were weaned? She knew he was a passionate man, but he was also very conscious of his duty and his family's well-being. She had not gathered the courage to ask him before he had left for London, although now she wished she had, for it would have set her mind somewhat at ease during his absence.

She shook the thoughts away. She had received no word of his imminent return, so she may as well stop thinking of it at all. She had enough problems with which she might occupy an idle mind as it was, lack of restfulness being first and foremost. It was rather galling that during the first opportunity for true rest she'd had in days, she did not wish to lie down. Perhaps she would try it anyway, for her sake later on as much as anything else.

She turned away from the window with a sigh, casting a fleeting glance at the shady trees across the yard, and began to move toward the bed when she heard heavy, quick footsteps on the stairs and then in the hallway outside her room. The door swung open before she had time to react.

"Elizabeth!" William cried, his expression urgent. He crossed the room to her, tossing his hat on the chair, and grasped her upper arms so hard that she considered crying out.

"William! You have…"

"I am so sorry," he said quickly. "I tried to talk him out of it, but as it was, I could not…"

"Where are they?" demanded a cold voice, one Elizabeth had both dreamed of and dreaded hearing for nine months.

William stepped to the side and spun, wrapping an arm around Elizabeth's shoulders, allowing her to see the man standing in the doorway. He was not a small man, nor an old one, but something about the circles under his eyes, the vague stoop of his posture, and the pure white of his hair made him _seem _old. It was the white that was most shocking for her. Had his hair always been so snowy?

"Papa?" Elizabeth squeaked, hugging herself round the middle tightly and leaning into William's side.

He wasn't truly here, was he? He couldn't really be here, in this place so removed? He didn't belong, and yet she could not deny the reality of his presence.

"I want to see them," he said, not looking at her but instead casting his eyes around the room. His voice was not loud or rough, but nor was it warm or kind. "My grandchildren."

"They are sleeping," William answered angrily, not even glancing toward the cradle. "I would be happy to bring them down to you in the parlor after they awaken."

Mr. Bennet ignored William altogether, his gaze catching on the cradle in the corner. He moved toward it, and William mirrored his steps, letting go of Elizabeth when she refused to move, her feet as heavy as lead. The men stood side-by-side at the cradle, both gazing down into the bed, and no one spoke or moved for several moments.

Elizabeth's thoughts were as frozen as her feet. She was nothing but a swirling cloud of apprehension hanging in the center of the room.

Finally, Mr. Bennet asked quietly, "Which is the boy?"

William reached out and brushed a hand over the head nearest the wall. Although the children had been born at the same time, it was not difficult to distinguish them, even in sleep. Madeline's hair was long and dark, while Bennet had only a short fuzz of light brown and a rounder face.

"Bennet," Mr. Bennet whispered. "Yes, he is a Bennet. And Madeline? She appears to already be a Darcy."

"She looks just like Georgiana, my younger sister, did when she was born," William supplied, his eyes fixed on his father-in-law's face. "Except that Maddy has her mother's eyes."

Mr. Bennet didn't respond to that comment. "Bennet is firstborn?"

"Yes, sir. By about twelve minutes."

"And all is well with them? Still?"

William turned to Elizabeth, indicating that she should answer. She knew she should, but it took several seconds before she could make her mouth move. "Yes… yes, they are well. They are growing as they ought, and the doctor says they are remarkably healthy considering that they came somewhat early."

Mr. Bennet did not look up at her. His eyes remained on the children, and one of his hands moved out tentatively to brush across Madeline's cheek. "I am glad."

He gazed at them for a few more seconds then stepped back, heaving a great sigh. "I am glad," he repeated. Then, without a single glance toward Elizabeth or William, he walked toward the door and began to exit.

"Papa!" Elizabeth cried out, shocked into speaking again. "Wait! Please!"

He paused on the threshold but did not turn to face her. "I came only to see my grandchildren. Now I have done so." He walked out, closing the door behind him.

Elizabeth stared at the door as she listened to the sound of his footsteps returning along the hallway and descending the staircase. After a few moments, she even thought she heard the sound of the front door closing.

Still, within their room, it was silent. Seconds ticked past, then minutes, both of them standing exactly as they had been.

Had all of that just happened? Had her father truly been here? And had he actually walked in, looked at his grandchildren, and walked out, all without even glancing her way?

Elizabeth could not think, could not move her sluggish mind past the image of the tenderness in his face as he had gazed down into the cradle. For a few moments, she hated her children. Why was it that they could inspire the look that he had only ever bestowed upon her, and yet now he would not even look her way?

"Papa," she whispered. She wrapped her arms more tightly around herself. "Papa."

Her speech seemed to have been the signal for which William was waiting, for in the next breath his arms were around her, holding her up and folding her against him. "Oh, my love, I am so sorry. I never meant… I never imagined his response would be so… I am so sorry."

She could not speak—she was not even certain what she should say—so she just shook her head, rubbing her forehead against his chest.

"I must confess all to you. This is my fault, all of it."

_No,_ she thought. _No matter what you have done, this is not your fault. It is mine._

"I wrote to your father some days ago, a week after the children were born. My new fatherhood overwhelmed me one night as you slept, and I could not stop thinking of how I would feel should all of what has happened in your life happen to Maddy. I would want to know, I thought, and I could not in good conscience continue to keep the secret from him. I wrote to him, the full truth of all that is between us, and I told him that you hoped for forgiveness but were too afraid to seek it. I asked that he only let me know whether he would consider seeing you again, our family."

Elizabeth was surprised to feel William's body trembling slightly against her. What did he fear? That she would not forgive him? Perhaps she should be angry, but she had little room for such feelings amidst the misery that was building inside her. And besides, she could not pretend that she was not relieved at having the knowledge revealed without having had to do it herself. He had done his best to care for her feelings. Any betrayal she felt was negated by his obvious concern for her.

"I never imagined, in writing it," he continued, "that I would only a few days later come in contact with your father during our dealings with Lydia. He made no reference to the letter in any of our conversations with Bingley and your uncle, although I noticed he was much subdued compared to my memories of him. I had forgotten to continue fearing his response by yesterday afternoon, when we finally received confirmation that Lydia is _not_ with child and were able to move forward with returning her to Longbourn. It was decided that she and your father would stay for a few more days, hopefully allowing her more time to grieve Wickham's abandonment without your mother's aid, and I informed them that I would be leaving the next morning to return to my business affairs.

"We supped at your uncle's house, but when your uncle adjourned us to join your aunt and sister in the parlor, your father held me back and asked for a private word. He asked me to sit, offered me a glass of port, which I refused, and said, quite calmly, 'Where are they?'

"'Who?' I asked.

"'My grandchildren. Where is this mysterious place?'

"I asked him why he wished to know, and he said that he wanted to see the children. His manner was very calm, even peaceable, so I admit that some hope sprang up within me of an impending reconciliation. I said, 'The children are still so young, sir, but I know Elizabeth and I would be glad to see you and your family at Pemberley once we return there, perhaps in the Autumn, or at Christmas.'

"And then he turned on me with a look of such deep emotion that I would swear I have never seen one like it. 'You have taken from me the only thing I ever truly held dear. How can you stand there, a gentleman for all the world to see, and dare to refuse me the right to see my own grandchildren when I wish? What burden of hubris must you bear!'"

Elizabeth buried her head deeper in William's chest and loosed her arms from around her own body to wrap around his waist.

"I was quite shocked by his vehemence, although I at once recognized that from his perspective, he was entirely justified in his accusation. I begged his pardon and tried to explain how difficult it would be for you to see him, especially if surprised, and that it would be better for you to have time to prepare. I told him how tired you are, how emotional all this has been. He brushed aside my explanations like chaff and informed me in no uncertain terms that he cared but little for your state or my wishes but that he would brook no refusal.

"Eventually I acquiesced, seeing no other option, but asking him to stay the night at the inn that I might tell you of his presence before he appeared. He seemed reluctant at first but finally agreed, and I collected him from your uncle's house when I left this morning. He was perfectly silent the entire ride—it was quite unnerving, even for me. I ordered the driver to bring me to the house first and then take him to the inn, but when I descended, he followed right behind me, and upon my surprised refusal to introduce him into the house, he shrugged and went to the door, prepared to simply walk in. You essentially know the rest of what happened."

He sighed, dropping an absent kiss on the top of her head. "My love, forgive me, for my deception and for being unable to protect you from his cruelty. I suspected that the encounter would not be pleasant, but I had no idea he would be so unfeeling."

"I have hurt him." Words had finally escaped her, but they had come out sounding rather wooden. "I knew that it would be possible he might never forgive me."

"You are both overwhelmed right now. I believe if we give him the night and go to visit him at the inn tomorrow before my coach returns him to London, he might be more amenable. Do you think you could leave the children long enough to go see him?"

"I'm sure my sisters can care for them during a short absence," Elizabeth offered, her emotions releasing slightly. "Do you… do you really think he might soften, William? He was so hard, so _callous."_

"Time is a great healer. Give him time and room to think, and we will go to see him tomorrow."

She sighed, hugging him tightly. "Very well."

"Do you forgive me for my part in all this, beloved? I meant well, but…"

"Of course I forgive you. I… am not even certain I wish you had told me. At least now we are revealed. We need hide no longer."

"Indeed not," he said slowly, reluctantly, "for I am afraid that without intending it, our situation has been revealed to more than just your father. Bingley returned to the dining room during my conversation with your father to bid an early farewell, and having overheard much, he confronted us upon our exit. That, of course, drew the attention of your uncle. Thankfully, Lydia had already retired. Your father was obviously of no assistance, and I was forced to explain the situation."

"What did they say?" Elizabeth asked, fearful once again.

"Their responses were… justified, although when they _finally_ allowed me to fully complete my explanation, with aid from your aunt, they were more understanding. I am sorry to say that there was unhappiness between your aunt and uncle because she didn't tell him what she knew, but Bingley rallied himself admirably and showed deep concern for your well-being. He told me, in a surprisingly serious manner, that had there been any other ending than our recent marriage, he would have called me out. I cannot help but believe him. The security of his relationship with your sister, as well as his experience now in bearing up under the disapproval of both of his own sisters regarding his impending marriage, has strengthened his character significantly, I believe."

"Will he tell Jane?" she asked quietly, heartsick.

"I asked that he delay for a few days, that I would tell you of our discovery and ask whether you would like to write her or anyone else in your family a letter for him to take with him when he returns to Hertfordshire. He agreed most readily. He says that Jane has been in agonies with worrying and missing you."

"Of course she has," Elizabeth whispered, wiping at the tears that had come pouring from her eyes. "She is _Jane_, after all."

"Will you write to her?"

"Yes. And to my mother, I think, although I know not what I should tell her."

"Nor I. I leave that up to your discretion. Bingley has promised to share nothing with anyone but your sister. The only uncertainty now is your father."

"Papa."

"My darling, all will be well," William said soothingly, rubbing his hands up and down her back. "Regardless of his reaction, all will be well, for we are our own family now, and we have each other no matter what."

Elizabeth looked up into his eyes and thought back to Cecily's words from a few days before. Could she allow herself to trust him? Was it simply a choice?

Her tender, aching heart quieted as he gazed back gently. He was a rock, as steady as a statue, and trust was a gift she was finally ready to give. No more doubt, no more uncertainty. She wanted to be happy.

"Then it is enough," she said reverently. "I love you, William."

"And I you, Elizabeth," he answered.

She stretched up onto her toes to kiss him, and he tightened his grip, holding her against him. Their lips met and separated, met and separated, and after a moment, as the now-familiar and heady feeling of lightness stole over her, they met without separating, and his hands stretched up into her hair as hers gripped the back of his waistcoat.

This was enough. He was enough. The sleeping babes in the cradle were enough. The rest might be sorrow, and her heart could still be broken, but their small family would heal her heart over and over, as she would heal theirs.

They parted finally after too many minutes, when she had found herself shivering with a desire she knew could not be satiated. She leaned her head against his chest, breathing hard, and he rested his chin on her head, slowly stroking the tresses that now hung down her back haphazardly.

"My darling," William whispered, "I hope you can forgive my eagerness, but when… that is, what did the doctor say regarding… erm…"

She laughed at his discomfort, which made it easier to bring her mind back under control. "Regarding sharing a bed?"

He breathed out in relief. "Yes."

"That, my husband, depends entirely on who you ask. For my part, I am inclined to follow the midwife's advice," she said, taking his hand and leading him toward the cradle, where she could hear Maddy's cry beginning.

"Which is what?"

Elizabeth smiled as she picked up the red-faced little girl. "I will tell you all I know. We have a decision to make."


End file.
